


31 Days In The Life Of Draco Malfoy

by Selly87



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Cat - Freeform, Challenge Response, Community: DRARRY : Fanfiction and Fanart Facebook Group, Established Relationship, Fluff, Green Eyes, M/M, One Word Prompts, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining, Pre-Slash, Romance, Wordcount: 100-500, writober2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 18:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 23,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selly87/pseuds/Selly87
Summary: Somehow something strange always happens in the life of one Draco Malfoy.





	1. Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, the idea of taking part in a challenge where I'm expected to write a something with a limited word count every single day for an entire month kind of terrifies me. Scratch that, it **//actually//** terrifies me. 
> 
> This is exactly the reason why I have chosen to join the _#Writober2018 Challenge_ over at _Drarry: Fanfiction and Fanart_ , a Facebook group that I joined a while ago and thoroughly enjoy being a member of. Through it, I have met a fantastic bunch of people and even made new friends. It's also helped me to start writing on a regular basis and this challenge is hopefully going to help me to continue that trend. It's also a feeble attempt to give back to the community and I hope I can do it justice.
> 
> Please note, while each chapter of this story will give you a glimpse into the life of Draco Malfoy, the days I write about do not happen consecutively. Rather, they are random days.

“One day, twenty-four hours.” Harry challenges and Draco stares, holds his gaze, then stubbornly folds his arms over his chest. He’s determined not to give into yet another one or Harry’s stupid challenges. He’s had enough.

“It’s in my bones, it’s what I was born with. Why would I want to voluntarily give up magic? It makes no sense.” Draco scowls, thoroughly annoyed that they are having this conversation again. Bloody Harry Potter and his stupid persistent insistence that he surrender his wand for a whole day to live like a Muggle. To what end?

“Because you can’t do it, that’s why, it’s as simple as.” Harry pushes and Draco wants to draw his wand and throw a series of hexes at Potter’s face. His wand hand twitches badly. He resists. For now.

“What do I get out of it?” He decides to throw the challenge right back at Harry. If he’s going to bloody well live like a Muggle for twenty-four hours, Potter better give him a damn good incentive to do so.

The mischievous gleam in Potter’s eyes doesn’t bode well and Draco wants to turn back time and spell his mouth closed. Why did he have to go there? Bloody refusals would have made Potter give up eventually.

“Anything.” Harry smiles sweetly and closing the distance between them he wraps his arms around Draco, draws him in and kisses him breathless. Draco can’t deny that he likes the promise of _anything_ and just like that Potter as done it again. As they break away from the kiss, Draco unsheathes his wand from its wrist holster, hesitates for a moment, then surrenders it.

In return Harry hands him a ticket for the tube. “Have a good day at work.” He smiles and Draco’s face falls. He stares. Curses his inability to resist Potter’s hidden Slytherin traits. Grabs the ticket and with his head held high he stalks out of the room and slams the front door a little more forcefully than necessary.

The wintery morning chill makes him shiver and he realises that he neither took his coat, nor his leather satchel. He turns, looks at the locked door and sighs, then mutters a few obscenities under his breath. No keys. No wand. He raises his hand, prepared to knock but the door opens before he can do so. Harry hands him his bag, overcoat and a set of keys they almost never use. Draco wants to knock that horrid smile off Harry’s face but says nothing. He takes his things and stalks off down the road.


	2. Potion

Draco wrinkles his nose at the sea of tissues that cover their bedroom floor. Disgusting.

_Sniff. Sneeze. Wheeze. Cough. Sneeze again._

He frowns and takes a cautionary step back to avoid at least some of the onslaught of sick he is greeted with. Lovely. Just what he needed.

“You are a bacterial infestation, Potter.” He states with as much disdain as he can muster, given that he actually feels sorry for Harry, who’s looking up at him emanating nothing but misery. His eyes are bleary and bloodshot, heavy eyelids barely halfway open. His nose shines redder than the Gryffindor crest. Despite the warming charm, the roaring fire and layer upon layer of blankets, Harry is clearly shivering.

“Gee. I love you too.” Harry mumbles and his hoarse voice sounds odd to Draco’s ears. He doesn’t like it. This isn’t his Harry. He wants his Harry back.

Against his better judgement, Draco approaches their bed and perches down next to Harry. The back of his hand finds Harry’s forehead and he pushes the damp, sticky hair away. He presses his hand against Harry’s clammy skin and nods. Definitely a fever. Harry’s practically burning up.

“I might just be dying.”

Draco tries not to laugh at Harry’s over-dramatisation of facts and reaches into his robes to produce two potion vials. “Pepper-Me-Up and an Antibiotic Tonic.” He offers and Harry weakly extends a grateful but shaky hand from under the covers.

Draco knows that there is no way Harry will open any of the two vials without either dropping them first or spilling them. Possibly both. With a sigh he rises to his feet, helps Harry into semi-upright position and carefully feeds him both potions. “Sleep. I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready.” He mumbles, presses a gentle kiss against Harry’s cheek and leaves him to rest while the potions work their magic. If he gets sick, he will force Harry to nurse him back to health!


	3. Heat

Draco renews the cooling charm around him and reaches for his iced lemonade.

The sweltering heat everywhere is killing him. Summers in Britain have never been _this_ hot before. It is worse than the South of France or even sodding Egypt. London is uncharacteristically hot and not even having dragged Harry out of the city and all the way to Wiltshire has offered any respite.

Draco is just about ready to escape to the Artic Tundra and only return when the weather conditions in Britain have improved considerably. His skin was not made for this kind of blazing sun, heck, his entire being was not made for this heat. His hair is frizzy and all but dried out. No number of potions will revive it. Not even Muggle beauty products seem to work.

Harry on the other hand? Harry is sprawled out on the grass on top of a bathing towel. He was previously wearing a pair of boxer shorts to shield his most private parts from the glaring sun but since he’s rolled onto his stomach he’s taken them off. _Tanning_ he calls it.

Draco calls it being an insufferable tease and wonders when exactly Harry turned into confident young sex god. He scoffs and sips on the cool and refreshing beverage in his hand. He tells himself that Harry’s naked, toned body, a mere ten feet away from him, does most definitely not affect his sanity. Or his nether regions. Draco stubbornly refuses to admit that Harry’s sun-kissed skin actually looks good. He’s spotting a nice golden-brown tan all over and his recent obsession with Muggle sports has resulted in a rather delectable body. Draco licks his lips, tells himself the lemonade made him do it. He gulps hard when Harry suddenly moves, turns and sits up, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“Care to share that drink?” Harry calls out to him and Draco determinedly refuses to move. No, he’s not going to give into Harry’s deliberate teasing. Most definitely not.

“If you come here.” He replies with an air of nonchalance and to his utter astonishment Harry does just that. He rises to his feet, moves swiftly and before Draco has any hope of keeping up with the present, he finds himself pressed into the lounger, straddled by a naked, sun-heated body. He drops the glass, wraps his fingers around Harry’s neck and pulls him in for a passionate kiss, then, unable to resist, he apparates them straight into their bedroom.


	4. Public

Draco hates public displays of affection. Hates them with a passion. He doesn’t understand why they need to broadcast their relationship quite so openly. The way he sees it, there are no discernible benefits to such a shameless display of affection. Most muggles appear to frown at seeing two men kiss in public anyway. The few times that they’ve held hands in public before, the reception wasn’t any better.

“Relax.” Harry sighs. Draco scowls at him and does the exact opposite. He badly wants to extract his hand from Harry’s, but Harry has a vice grip on it, clearly refusing to let go. Draco really wants to hex Harry but unfortunately Harry’s holding on to his wand hand.

“Potter!” Draco hisses, fighting to keep his rising frustration under control. He hates being the centre of attention and people are clearly _looking_. Isn’t it enough that they draw crowds whenever they venture into Diagon Alley or any other wizarding community? Must they also draw the attention of others while out and about in Muggle London?

“Contrary to what you seem to have convinced yourself of, I can assure you, absolutely nobody cares whether we hold hands or not.” Harry tries to reason and Draco smiles devilishly.

“If they don’t care if we hold hands, then they also won’t care if we don’t.” He says, tries again to pull his hand away but Harry refuses to let go. Instead he stops walking, turns and stops right in front of Draco.

“I care.” He whispers. “I like holding your hand. You’re _mine_.”

For a moment Draco doesn’t know what to say but he knows if he keeps looking at those vibrant green eyes he’s bound to give in and agree to just about anything. He always does. Those eyes, they are his weakness.

Their impromptu shopping trip had been his idea. Turning it into a proper date followed by dinner and a movie ( _sodding_ _Potter_ _and_ _his_ _Muggle_ obsessions) had been Harry’s idea. Draco had _relented_ simply because he couldn’t, in all good conscience, turn down any of Harry’s requests. Not when faced with those eyes.

“I’m going soft in the head.” Draco sighs and does what he really doesn’t want to do. He shrugs and relents. Holding hands, it is then. “At least loosen your grip, you’re breaking my bones. I promise I won’t run.”

His reward is a beaming smile and he exhales audibly and with frustration. Once again, Harry got his way and as they continue walking, their fingers now loosely entwined, Draco can’t help but wonder whether the Sorting Hat really made the right decision when he put Harry Potter into Gryffindor all those years ago. This isn’t stupid Gryffindor bravery, this is Slytherin cunningness at its finest and Draco is jealous.


	5. Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a quote from a book I neither wrote nor own the rights to. I've merely bored a few lines to supplement my own story.

“There’s a dementor in our kitchen.” Draco says with feigned terror from where he’s leaning against the living room doorframe, drinking steaming hot coffee from his favourite mug. He gets no reaction. None whatsoever. Harry doesn’t even look up from the book in his hand. He does however draw his wand and casually conjures a Patronus, sending the stag galloping straight past him on its way into the kitchen.

Draco shudders at the pleasant tingling feeling of happiness that passes through him as the Patronus brushes past him, then sighs. Is there nothing that will get Potter to look up from that dratted book he’s had his nose buried in for the last three days?

“I don’t think this whole gay thing is working out for me. I’m gonna go shag a couple of girls.” He tries again, although the mere idea of what he’s just said makes him want to vomit. He doesn’t like girls that way, never has, never will.

“Hmm, don’t forget to use condoms, I’m not raising your illicit brood of children.” Harry’s reply is immediate but he still doesn’t lift his eyes off the book.

 _At least he’s listening_ , Draco thinks, then sighs dramatically. It isn’t like Harry never reads. In fact, he frequently picks up a book over the weekend and before bed. It’s just that sometimes he gets so lost in one of this books that he leaves his entire world behind and that seems to include him. It’s _this_ that Draco doesn’t like. He feels like an outsider looking in. He supposes he could tell Harry but he’s too proud to do so.

He takes another sip from his coffee, walks into the living room and plonks himself on the sofa. Harry almost immediately stretches his bare legs out over his thighs and Draco idly strokes the warm skin, drawing irregular patterns and wonky lines. He glances at the book cover. _How To Kill A Mockingbird_ by Harper Lee. He’s never heard of the book or the writer and can’t help but wonder why anyone would want to kill a Mockingbird. They are beautiful creatures with the most marvellous of singing voices.

“Is it a Muggle book?” He asks, finally giving into his curiosity. Harry hums in agreement.

“What’s it about?” Is his next question. Astonishingly that has Harry looking up from the pages immediately.

“People are people. Regardless of race and social class.” He answers.

Draco thinks for a moment, sips his coffee, then agrees. He agrees quietly, but he agrees. He moves closer to Harry and reaches out to toy with the gem of his worn t-shirt. “Read to me?” He asks sheepishly and isn’t at all prepared for the beaming smile he gets from Harry. It warms his entire chest and his head feels fuzzy. He watches Harry flick back to the first page of the book and resting his head back he closes his eyes.

“ _When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem’s fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury. His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles to his body, his thumb parallel to his thigh. He couldn’t have cared less, so long as he could pass and punt._ ” Harry starts to read and Draco, now that he knows the perfect way to capture Harry’s attention is to show an interest, listens with rapt attention. He doesn’t really understand much of what Harry’s reading but he likes the sound of Harry’s voice, he likes being part of something Harry enjoys doing.


	6. Quill

Quill #23 snaps right in the middle and joins the mountain of already broken quills on his desk. With a frustrated growl Draco swipes his arm across and sends the broken writing tools flying.

“Whatever have these quills done to you to deserve such unadulterated wrath?” Harry speaks from behind him and two familiar hands place themselves on his shoulders. They squeeze and rub expertly, insistently working away to reduce the tension that’s been stuck there for days.

Draco tilts his head backwards and looks up at Harry. He’s met with an amused grin and sparkling green eyes. He thinks there’s a smidgen of concern in them but he can’t be sure. Not with the mood he’s currently in. He’s frustrated, angry, stressed and worst of all absolutely decaffeinated.

“They refuse to do my bidding.” He sighs, answering Harry’s question. He wants to add that Harry had better not stop what he’s doing but something tells him that there’s no need. Harry knows. He is, amazingly enough, perceptive like that.

“Have you tried hexing them?” Harry asks and Draco considers the idea, then reaches for his wand and summons all the broken quills. He neatly piles them up on his desk and casts _Incendio_ , watching with satisfaction as the magical flames greedily eat up every single broken quill, leaving nothing but a pile of grey ash behind. “Feeling better now?” Harry inquires.

“No.” Draco sighs and he briefly contemplates to set fire to his half-finished manuscript too, but since it’s his only copy he refrains from being quite so foolish. He knows he will regret it.

“Have you tried a change of scenery?” Harry offers and Draco frowns at him. He thinks an upside-down frown isn’t exactly very menacing but he just doesn’t want to give up on that heavenly massage. Harry clearly ignores his frown, leans down and captures his lips in an inverted kiss. Draco thinks kissing like that is awkward and not at all coordinated but it’s Harry who’s kissing him and for Harry he will do awkward and not at all coordinated. “Grab a couple pens and your notebook and meet me downstairs in five.” Harry mumbles into their kiss, then disapparates before Draco can question him.

He is most definitely intrigued, reaches for the requested items, stuffs them into his leather satchel and heads downstairs. He finds Harry at the front door, holding his coat. While confused, Draco accepts the offered garment and the moment he slips into it, he finds himself pulled into a fierce hug. The familiar pull of apparition tells him they are leaving Grimmauld’s Place.

They reappear a few seconds later and looking around Draco quickly realises he doesn’t recognise this particular part of London. It’s quiet though and on a second glance he notes that they are standing in front of a quaint little coffee shop. He’s dragged inside and up a winding staircase before he has time to protest. The coffee shop’s second floor is decorated with mismatched furniture and picture frames are everywhere. There are bookshelves with books of all shapes and sizes and way too many plants. It’s bright and the large window overlooks the River Thames. He turns to face Harry, who smiles, shrugs, leans on for a kiss.

“They close at 9pm, I’ll pick you up then. Order whatever you want, I’ll settle the bill. Write. It will work. Trust me.” Harry tells him, then disappears down the staircase.

Draco frowns, confused, gobsmacked. He looks around the unfamiliar place, picks a table by the window and stares out over the river until a young waitress brings him a steaming up of hot coffee. “Your husband is handsome. And _so_ sweet, you’re so lucky.” She gushes and Draco frowns, wants to correct her, tell her he and Harry aren’t married but she doesn’t linger long enough for him to set her straight.

Still trying to make sense of the past thirty minutes, Draco unpacks his notepad and Muggle pens, then, and without the slightest bit of hesitation, starts to write and doesn’t stop until Harry reappears many, many hours later.


	7. Tongue

Draco watches, mesmerised, fingers tightly curled around the strap of his leather satchel. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything quite as erotic as this. Nobody should be allowed to be _this_ shameless while eating ice-cream. He really wants to go over there, wants to straddle Potter’s thighs and capture his lips in a fierce and possessive kiss, show everyone that this man is _his_. Except he isn’t, at least not in that way. Draco doesn’t care. He wants to plunge his tongue into Potter’s mouth, wants to kiss him like he’s never kissed anyone before. He wants all that and more.

Except that wouldn’t be proper. He doesn’t think Potter would appreciate the sudden ambush. He would probably draw his wand and hex him. Or maybe just punch him. Draco can’t quite decide which one is more likely.

Vibrant green eyes, sparkling with mischief, seek out his own grey ones and Draco swallows hard. He wants to look away but finds himself unable to do so. There’s something strangely captivating in Potter’s eyes that keeps him from looking away. He can feel his mouth go dry. Too dry. This is getting embarrassing. Friends don’t stare at each other like that. He gathers up every ounce of willpower and blinking several times, he tears his gaze away, looks at the ground instead.

This is getting ridiculous. He can’t deal with this any more. Looking but not having. It’s driving him crazy and he honestly doesn’t know how much more he can take. They are friends, but Draco doesn’t want to be friends. He really, really doesn’t want to be friends.

He stands up, straightens and walks off. He needs to get away, far away. But he’s barely walked ten feet when a hand tightly grabs his wrist, pulling him to a halt.

He turns, stares, swallows hard. It’s Potter who’s stopped him from walking away. Of course, it’s Potter. He sighs, tells himself to get a grip, shakes his head, telling Potter no, not here, not like this. But Potter doesn’t listen, he never listens. Potter steps closer and Draco feels his body go rigid.

“Enough. I’m tired of this cat and mouse game. _I_ know it, _you_ know it, let’s stop pretending.” Potter mumbles. “I’m going to kiss you, right here, right now, in front of everyone.” Draco thinks his expression says ‘ _are you crazy_ ’ but he can’t be sure because Potter is now so close that his knees have started to shake and he’s not sure if he still remembers how to breathe.

Draco thinks he can feel absolutely everybody’s eyes on him, they are, after all, standing in the centre of Hogsmeade and half of Hogwarts has descended upon the sleepy little wizarding village. He wants to run but it’s like someone has cast a Full-Body-Bind Curse on him and Potter moves closer, curls his fingers into his hair and then suddenly Potter’s lush lips, cool from the ice-cream, are on his and _oh_ _heavens_. Against his better judgement, Draco melts into the kiss, melts into Potter, even returns the kiss.

He vaguely thinks that Potter’s tongue is way too skilled but that’s his last coherent thought. All Draco can think about is Potter’s lips and his tongue, oh that sweet agile tongue. Draco never wants this kiss to end, never wants to ever again watch but not have.


	8. Bed

“It looks horrendous.” Draco turns his nose up, not even the least bit aroused by the fact that Harry’s has seductively sprawled himself all over the bed.

“It’s very comfy though.” Harry teases and Draco rolls his eyes. He is not going to give in. Harry, no matter what underhanded tactics he resolves to, will not win this.

“We’re _not_ buying this bed.” He states with conviction and walks off to look at the next bed. Theirs broke this morning. Old age. _Not_ over-enthusiastic lovemaking. Definitely not over-enthusiastic lovemaking. Simply old age. Yes.

They look at another twenty beds. Draco hates each and every single one of them. He turns them all down. They are either too ugly, too soft, too hard or too small. Mostly too ugly though. None of them speak to him. He doesn’t want to sleep in any of them. He wants their old bed back, but he knows that’s impossible. It’s broken beyond repair, even magic can’t help here.

He wonders whether he’s managed to drive Harry crazy yet. One look tells him that the serene façade, Harry’s put up, is all but a glamour. He wonders how long it’s going to take before Harry loses it.

They stop in front of one last bed. Draco takes a look at it, takes a few steps back, takes another look and smiles. It’s a very large extra king-size canopy bed with an iron wrought headboard. The curtains are silvery grey on the outside and midnight blue on the inside. He runs his fingertips along the curtains and gasps. Pure silk. The floor-length curtains are thick, to keep out the light and keep in the warmth, but they are most definitely silk. Draco likes the feel of it. He takes a cautionary step forward, presses his hand into the mattress and pulls away astonished.

“It’s a waterbed.” Harry states, leaflet in hand.

Draco frowns. He has no idea what that means. It looks just like any other bed and there’s no water anywhere in sight.

“There’s water in the mattress.” Harry explains helpfully. “Go on, give it a try.” He always encourages very un-Malfoy-ish behaviour and Draco wants to reprimand him again, but he’s also intrigued. He has no idea why anyone would want to sleep on water, but he’s fascinated enough to forget all his manners for five minutes. He takes a chance, sits down on the bed and sighs. Bliss. He closes his eyes, lets himself fall backward and sighs again. He’s sure he’s died and gone to heaven. Beds aren’t supposed to feel this magical. At least not those you can buy in a Muggle furniture shop.

The mattress dips beside him and he opens his eyes to find Harry lying beside him. Their fingers interlink and they smile. Draco rubs over the ring on Harry’s left ring finger and stares up at the canopy.

“This one, we’re buying this one.” He says.

“Okay.” Harry replies, shuffles and leans over him to steal a kiss. Draco lets him. But only because the curtains are, to an extent, shielding them from prying eyes. And only because this bed is heavenly. And Harry is, well, Harry.

Draco is vaguely aware to that a shop assistant comes by to admonish them but leaves them be the moment he tells her that their buying the bed and everything that comes with it. He doesn’t know exactly how much they will have to pay but he doesn’t care.


	9. Pumpkin

Draco grabs half of the pumpkin and hurls it across the kitchen with such vigour that his ambient magic is emanating from him in waves and the kitchen cupboards and their contents object soundly. He watches with satisfaction as the pumpkin hits the wall, then drops to the floor to create a huge mess. He growls, reaches for his wand and cleans away the mess with a lazy flick, then wonders why he’s so apt at brewing potions but so utterly useless when it comes to cooking.

He surveys the mess he’s made on the kitchen island and remembers Snape telling them during Potions that one cannot hope to achieve anything useful with a messy workstation. Draco sighs and resolves to clean. He doesn’t even know if he still has all the ingredients he needs and scrambles for the page of instructions he’s torn out of an old cook book from the Manor’s kitchen.

The elf that caught him do it had looked positively terrified and Draco can’t help but wonder whether the elf had been terrified to see him in the kitchen or terrified because he’d destroyed a book. He vows to contemplate terrified elves at a later time and skims over his list of ingredients instead. A quick glance at his now neat workstation tells him he has everything he needs, including a fresh pumpkin. The last one. He banishes the smelly goo inside his cauldron and on second thought banishes the cauldron too.

A new cauldron and an hour of heavy concentration later, Draco manages to produces two glasses of perfect-looking pumpkin spice juice. He’s just in time too because Harry chooses exactly that moment to venture into their kitchen, sniffs and breaks into a broad grin.

“Pumpkin spice juice.” Harry states the obvious and licks his lips. Draco swallows, offers one glass to Harry and waits with bated breath. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous all of a sudden. It’s very un-Malfoy like but he can’t help it. “This is fucking _divine_.” Harry comments and Draco relaxes visibly.

He’s apparently managed to produce something that agrees with Harry, which is a small miracle, really, because Harry usually refuses to accept anything Draco makes. Unless it’s coffee or tea, of course. Draco doesn’t like it but he’s long since conceded that his talents do not extend into the realms cooking. He quietly basks in Harry’s accolades and feels very much ambushed when Harry stealthily steals a kiss from him.

“You never cease to amaze me, Draco Malfoy.” Harry whispers against his lips and his warm breath tickles. Draco can’t resist and brings his arms up to rest on Harry’s shoulders, then leans in for more kissing. His kitchen adventures have left him exhausted and kissing Harry is perfectly invigorating. He doesn’t ever plan on telling Harry that though.


	10. Handcuffs

Draco narrows his eyes and glares daggers at Harry, but it’s hard to be menacing from behind steel bars. He still can’t believe that he’s managed to get himself arrested. By Muggle Aurors no less. He frowns, remembers they aren’t called Aurors. _Police_. Yes, that’s what Harry calls them. They are mean, mean people and they are intimidating. They also don’t believe him. Draco hates it when people call him a liar. He’s _not_ a liar. He didn’t cause the fight, he tried to mediate. Still, somehow, he has ended up as the scapegoat. He now wonders why on earth he bothered to get involved in the first place. Harry’s influence no doubt. It makes him do all sort of strange things.

Apart from being called a liar, when he’s not, what Draco hates even more right now is having been thrown into a locked dungeon. He frowns, corrects his thoughts. _Cells_. They are called cells. Harry taught him so. He thinks he doesn’t give a fuck about what they are called. He just wants out of this place. Preferably yesterday.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” He hisses at Harry and he’s known him long enough to know that it’s taking Harry all of his willpower to keep a straight face. He knows Harry wants to laugh, he can practically smell the amusement radiating off of him.

Yet, it seems that Harry has remarkable self-control. He doesn’t grin, his eyes don’t even twinkle with merriment and he most definitely doesn’t chuckle. He looks rather serious too. Draco watches, somewhat anxiously, as Harry exchanges a few quiet words with the officer at his side, who nods and then moves to open the door. He motions for Draco to step outside the cell, then unlocks the iron shackles around Draco’s wrists and Draco gingerly massages the red skin and hisses. It’s painful and Draco remembers that they’re called _handcuffs_ …not shackles. He sighs wearily and is grateful when a familiar hand places itself on his lower back, quietly reassuring.

“Come on, let’s go home.” Harry murmurs and leads him out of the police station and into the still wintery chill of an early spring morning that’s barely begun. Draco squints at the sun, hanging low on the horizon, stretches towards it and lets the rays tickle his tired face.

“I hate all Muggles.” Draco mumbles and Harry laughs beside him.

“No, you don’t.” He says and Draco turns to face him, affirms that no he doesn’t hate all Muggles but doesn’t especially like them either right this moment.

They silently walk down the empty street and for once Draco doesn’t mind when Harry reaches for his hand. They duck into a narrow alleyway and Harry apparates them home where Draco immediately heads for their bathroom, strips out of his clothes and steps under the jets of a hot shower. He’s achy and his wrists are sore and _oh heavens_ , he likes that Harry is now in the shower with him, kissing the back of his neck and his shoulder blades and running wet fingers down his arms and sides and chest and stomach and everywhere. He leans back into the embrace, relishes in the warm, naked, wet body, closes his eyes and lets the water cascade over them. He thinks that the only perk to Harry’s job as Head Auror is that he’s on good terms with the Muggle police force.

“You know, you can buy padded handcuffs that make for some sizzling hot foreplay.” Harry whispers into his ears and Draco’s eyes snap open, he twists his head sideways and looks at Harry, whose eyes have darkened several shades. They are now a very dark Slytherin green, and Draco thinks he can feel Harry’s arousal pushing against his lower back.

“You’re not serious.” Draco breathes, then stares as Harry takes his left wrist and kisses the angry red welts, licks them with his tongue and Draco sighs with relief. And anticipation. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s aroused by this but he also doesn’t care.

“Don’t heal them.” He whispers. An irrational part of his brain wants to keep the remainder of his night in a Muggle prison for a little while longer.

“I won’t. I’ll make love to you instead.” Harry murmurs, wet lips still ghosting over the marks those horrid Muggle handcuffs have left behind.


	11. Black Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/13414151@N02/30321573867/in/dateposted-public/)

“Happy Birthday.” Harry whispers and Draco smiles and continues to pretend to still be asleep. He thinks he can smell coffee and breakfast but he’ll be damned if he opens his eyes and interrupts whatever Harry has planned for him. He sighs as Harry moves on top of him and reciprocates the lazy kiss, Harry initiates.

_This is bliss_ , he thinks, then moans as Harry trails tiny kisses along the side of his neck and nibbles at his earlobe before sucking it into his mouth. “I got you something special this year.” Harry whispers and Draco’s smile widens. He still refuses to open his eyes, wants to shamelessly enjoy everything Harry is offering to give him.

Those delightful kisses travel down his chest, teeth graze over his nipples and he moans, then bucks his hips when Harry’s hot breath ghosts over his hard cock. His hands find Harry’s unruly hair and he entangles his fingers in it, moans as Harry sucks him into his mouth, swirls his agile tongue around the head and works his magic. Draco throws his head back into the pillows, licks his too dry lips and moans. Fingers expertly prepare him and moments later Harry pushes into him, stretching him, taking him in a way only Harry can. Draco wraps his legs around Harry’s hips, draws him in, keeps him close and they kiss and make sweet, sweet unhurried love.

Draco thinks this is quite possibly the best birthday present he’s ever received, until much later, when they’ve sufficiently recovered, and Harry climbs out of bed and returns with a big brown box with many, many tiny holes. He gets back onto the bed and Draco sits up, eyes the box suspiciously. Harry carefully sets the cardboard box down in front of him and Draco is hesitant. He’s sure there’s an animal inside and it worries him. Just a smidgen.

“Open it.” Harry prompts and Draco removes the lid. Stares into the box. Stares at Harry. Stares back into the box. Laughs. In the centre of the box, curled up into a tiny ball is a black ball of fur. A kitten.

“You got me a bloody kitten. A black kitten.” Draco can’t stop laughing and the tiny creature inside the box lazily opens its eyes and stares up at Draco. His breath catches. He blinks. Then looks at Harry. Looks back at the kitten. “He’s got green eyes. He’s bloody got green eyes.” He states, not sure whether to be shocked or surprised or amazed. Maybe all of these.

“He’s a she.” Harry corrects with a lopsided grin and Draco reaches into the box, carefully cradles the tiny black cat in both his hands and stares into its emerald green eyes. He’s never before seen a kitten with such vibrantly green eyes and he’s instantly in love. But he’s not going to tell Harry that. He suspects that Harry knows anyway, but he doesn’t care.

“She looks like you.” Draco muses, gently strokes the kitten and giggles very uncharacteristically when it licks him with its tiny, very pink tongue.

“I thought you might like her.” Harry nods, leans in and kisses his cheek. “You can name her whatever you like.” He adds and Draco stares at the kitten for the longest time. It holds his gaze, then makes a sound Draco cannot describe and closes its eyes again. He thinks. Thinks very hard. Racks his brains for a suitable name. Comes up blank time and time again. Then finally he has an idea.

“Lily Nox Potter-Malfoy.” He says, looks at Harry and smiles. He doesn’t need to explain his choice of name. Harry understands. They share a kiss, then lie back on the bed and holding hands they stare at the ceiling. Draco thinks that yes, this year’s birthday present is the best ever. But he’s not going to tell Harry that. Definitely not.


	12. Blood

“When the blood breathes hate it cannot dissemble. Without a doubt, one of the toughest lessons I ever learnt in life and one of the toughest lessons anyone who witnessed the Rise and Fall of Lord Voldemort will ever learn, _must_ learn. When that what is meant to sustain you, meant to nurture you and protect you is filled with nothing but hatred, how can you even hope to pretend? Acrimony that runs this deep is all-consuming, much like the obstreperous raging flames of the Fiendfyre Curse. It wants, it takes everything you have and more until there’s nothing left but a burnt-out shell, a vague reminder of what you once were. Possessed and absorbed with false beliefs, lies and deception, brought to your knees by a power far beyond your control, how can you hope to make meaningful connections, form lasting bonds of friendship, earn the trust and love of others?”

Harry stops to read, looks up and nods approvingly. Draco finds himself letting out a small breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Continue.” He merely whispers. He wants Harry to read the book dedication more than he wants him to recite the foreword.

“ _For HJP. Who extended a hand when I needed it most, who became the friend I always wanted and the lover I never dared to hope to have. Amor vincit omnia. Love conquers all, truly._ ”

He thinks Harry’s voice has cracked a little and takes a deliberate step closer to him, places a hand on Harry’s forearm and squeezes gently.

“Are you sure?” He asks and Draco nods. Anyways, it’s too late to change anything now, the book’s already gone to print. _Pureblood Prejudice_ by _Draco Malfoy_. It’s taken him two years to finish it. Two years filled with blood, sweat and tears. Tears that Harry never saw but was always there to dry. Sweat that’s drained him of every ounce of energy he’s ever had. Blood spilled over parchment, fingers raw from holding a quill for hours and hours on it, day after day, week after week, month after month. If anyone deserves a dedication, it’s Harry. He’s been there throughout it all, from the moment Draco first picked up a quill up until now. Draco has no doubt that’ll he’ll be there through the storm that’s about to rock the wizarding world.

He takes the book from Harry, snaps it closed and discards it carelessly on the coffee table, then locks eyes with Harry and lets himself drown in those beautiful hypnotising green orbs. He can see love. Pride. Passion. Joy. Happiness. Excitement. Awe. Anticipation. “He tried to bring out the worst in me, you bring out the best in me.” He whispers and they kiss. They kiss like there’s no tomorrow, like being locked at lips sustains them. Draco surrenders, melts against Harry like a marshmallow roasting in open fire. He isn’t even the slightest bit ashamed. He loves this man, loves him so deeply that it’s almost scary. But only almost. Because, really, for the most part it’s just so damn beautiful, so utterly perfect.


	13. Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place a few days after the second chapter "Potion".

It’s quite of an effort to be cross with someone when you’re burning up and freezing all at the same time. It’s hard to purse your lips together and clench your jaw when you can’t stop coughing and sneezing and your nose is perpetually emitting disgusting snot. It’s hard to stare, eyes blazing with anger, when it takes a great deal of effort to try and open them in the first place. It’s hard to make threats of eternal damnation and imminent curses and hexes when you’ve got no voice, or barely any, to do so.

Everything hurts and Draco really just wants to die. Right now. This second. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this terrible. He doesn’t think feeling this terrible is humanly possible. He hates Harry Potter, hates him so much right now. Except he doesn’t. He doesn’t have the energy to feel anything and hate is a pretty strong feeling that requires an awful lot of effort. He’s so tired. He just wants to sleep. But sleep isn’t forthcoming because everything hurts and he’s just so cold and so hot and so bloody uncomfortable.

He warily eyes the porridge Harry made him earlier. His stomach churns at the mere idea of food. He’s had a sip of tea but his throat is so damn sore that he can’t bring himself to try and drink it. Just thinking about swallowing anything hurts. Thinking hurts too.

Harry’s run out to get some potions from the apothecary on Diagon Alley and Draco thinks he’s been gone for ages. In fact, he isn’t quite sure how much time has past since Harry’s left him in their bedroom – _it may have only been minutes_ – doomed to wither away as his body is slowly consumed by this bacterial infestation Harry bestowed on him. Why is it that every time Harry gets sick first, he gets sick too? Why is it never the other way around? Draco thinks life is pretty unfair and he wonders whether Harry really has to love him quite this much to share absolutely everything with him.

He closes his eyes, tells himself that he’s just going to rest for just a moment or two. Maybe time will pass faster this way. He hates being sick, he’s never been good at it. He doesn’t think it’s even possible to be good at something so horrible.

A cold hand rests on his forehead and distracts Draco from his thoughts he doesn’t want to have because they make his brain hurt. He manages a small sigh and very slowly opens his eyes, blinks and is flooded with peacefulness and a strange sense of happiness.

He’s quite sure that Harry’s conjured a Patronus, but his neck muscles are too sore and he’s not bothered enough to attempt to crane it to try and check. He wants to call him out for cheating but he doesn’t quite manage. Instead, he clings to Harry, allows himself to be manoeuvred into a somewhat upright position and dutifully swallows all five of the healing potions Harry plies him with.

His throat feels much less sore after the first one and after the second one he doesn’t feel so hot anymore. Not cold either. Just right, he supposes. The third one numbs his aching muscles, relaxes them even, and the forth one clears his airways while number five seems to engulf him in a pleasant fog of sleepiness. This is so much gentler than Pepper-Up, which does all of that but at exactly the same time and it makes him want to vomit each and every time.

“You truly are the most horrid patient ever.” Harry mumbles into his ear, sheds his clothes, climbs onto the bed and under the heavy duvet. He dutifully takes up residence behind him and Draco rolls over, curls into a foetal position and snuggles as close as he possibly can. Strong arms hold him tight and he sighs against Harry’s chest, isn’t even mad that he’s been called a horrid patient. His last conscious thought is that Harry must love him an awful lot to willingly take three days off work to nurse him back to health.

“If you tell anyone, I will kill you.” Draco mumbles and makes a mental note to kick Harry when he’s feeling better, which may just be later tonight.


	14. Wet

“I hate it when we fight, I really do.” Draco says quietly, breaking the uncomfortable silence that has settled over them. He dips his index finger into his now cold coffee and holds it over an empty page of parchment in front of him. A drop of coffee falls onto the paper, spreads through the fibres, leaves a disgusting wet, brown stain. He repeats the action over and over again, filling the parchment with drop after drop of coffee. He’s recently seen an exhibition on coffee stain art, but he highly doubts that what he’s creating at the moment can be considered art. Stains. Stains that have a purpose. He isn’t quite sure what purpose but at the moment he has other things, more important things, to contemplate.

“Do you think I enjoy it?” Harry responds. He sounds weary and something inside Draco’s chest aches terribly, makes it difficult to breathe. He thinks there may be a tiny crack in his heart because it just doesn’t seem to be working right at the moment. He lifts his head, looks at Harry and carefully takes in his tired face. He doesn’t like the dark circles under Harry’s eyes or the fact that they are puffy and appear bloodshot. The idea that Harry may have been crying makes it just that little bit more difficult to breathe properly and it definitely doesn’t do anything to lessen that sharp pain in his chest. He really doesn’t like the way Harry’s slouching on the chair, not when he’s doing it because he’s exhausted.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” Draco states and Harry’s hollow laugh startles him.

“No, I haven’t. Believe it or not, I don’t enjoy sleeping alone anymore these days.” He says, brings his coffee mug to his lips and drinks.

“Can we…not fight?” Draco wants to know.

Harry’s throttled snort makes him grind his teeth together and he really wants to hex Harry. But he doesn’t. Because, he really, really doesn’t want to fight. Not with words and definitely not with wands.

“Depends on _you_ , Draco. I didn’t start this pointless argument.” Harry challenges him and Draco knows what Harry really wants is an apology. He also knows he deserves one. Merlin, why does apologising always have to be so bloody hard? He knows he’s in the wrong here but it takes all he has and a little more to admit that. He feels weak, stripped of all his protective layers and he knows it’s silly because this is Harry and Harry knows him better than anyone does, but he just can’t help it. There’s this stubborn part of him that makes it so difficult to lay it all bare.

He takes a deep breath, reaches out and places his hand on top of Harry’s. Harry doesn’t pull away, just sits and waits. Draco bites his lips, sighs and concedes. He’s got to find a way to say the words.

“I’m sorry.” He finally whispers, eyes locked on Harry’s, holding his gaze, waiting, hoping.

“For what exactly, Draco?” Harry pushes and Draco swallows a growl. He takes a deep breath, composes himself and launches into the explanation he knows Harry deserves.

“I chickened out. They are like your family and I got overwhelmed and scared and—” He trails off and Harry offers something that’s neither a statement nor a question really.

“You decided that lashing out at me for inviting you to attend Hermione’s and Ron’s wedding with me was the most sensible course of action?”

Draco nods.

Harry sighs. “You know, if you’d just talk to me, things would be easier. But no, you just keep it all inside. You’re so afraid to let me in. What do you think will happen if you do? That I’ll get scared and run? Really? Draco, it’s been five years and I haven’t run yet, you may as well start to wrap your head around the idea that if you don’t want me around, it’ll be _you_ telling me to fuck off, because I don’t want you to fuck off, not now, not ever.” He says and Draco nods again.

“I can try.” He is quick to say, pleased when a small smile flickers over Harry’s face. “And I really don’t want you to fuck off either, not even when you piss me off.” He adds, having spontaneously decided that a little bit of openness isn’t going to kill him.

“Sometimes you’re a right moron, Draco Malfoy, I hope you know that, right?” Harry says and Draco thinks that Harry might just be right. Just this once. He isn’t, however, going to give him the satisfaction of knowing. At least not yet. Maybe later, after they’ve made up properly and all. Or maybe never, because somehow, he has the feeling that Harry already knows that he knows.


	15. Slow

“The fuse’s blown. I don’t have a spare.” Harry says as he emerges from the basement, lid wand in hand. Draco frowns, wants to say that he knows exactly what Harry is talking about, but he really, really doesn’t. He is sure Harry has explained it to him before but he doesn’t remember. Harry explains too many things. Too many Muggle things. “No electricity, no light. No more movie.” Harry adds seemingly as an afterthought and before Draco can ask. He wasn’t going to ask but he’s grateful for the explanation anyway.

“Surely you have candles?” Draco inquires and jumps just a little when a loud rumble of thunder rolls overhead. Seconds later several strikes of lightning follow and for a few seconds it is as bright as day in the kitchen, then darkness settles once more and Draco finds himself taking a deep breath, tells himself it’s alright.

These days he doesn’t like thunderstorms all that much anymore. They remind him of the war, of parts of Hogwarts collapsing and of curses flying everywhere. He does like the morning after a thunderstorm though. The morning after smells like a fresh start. He wonders whether Harry feels the same but doesn’t want to be the one to broach the subject. They never talk about the war. Not even when Harry wakes up screaming in the middle of the night and drenched in cold sweat. Lately it doesn’t happen so much anymore, but they still don’t talk about it. Draco thinks they probably never will. And if they ever will, it’ll be many, many years from now when they’re both old and grey and it’s all just a very distant memory.

He watches Harry rummage about the kitchen drawers. He wants to ask why Harry doesn’t just accio whatever he’s looking for but has long since come to realise that Harry likes doing certain things the Muggle way. He doesn’t question it. At least not out loud. Still, it doesn’t stop him wondering about Harry’s sanity.

“Found it.” Harry announces a moment later, holding a strange contraption in his hand. Draco frowns, warily watches Harry toy with it for a moment. He assumes, since Harry’s search hasn’t procured any candles, that there are none. It is a mystery to him how Harry doesn’t have any candles in the house and Draco thinks that if he lived here permanently he should like to change the way Harry runs his household. He is, however, smart enough not to mention that to Harry. He knows it would only result in an argument. Or at the very least a lengthy, and completely unnecessary, debate.

“What it is?” He eventually asks, giving into his curiosity.

“A flashlight.” Harry grins and Draco nods. Of course. A _flashlight_. He knows exactly what that is. He really, really doesn’t but tonight it doesn’t even bother him. “The batteries are dead though.” Harry mumbles under his breath and sighs. Draco reckons that whatever that means, it can’t be anything good. “Looks like we’ll be spending the night in the pitch dark.” He says.

Draco can’t help but roll his eyes. He draws his wand, reprimands. “What kind of wizard are you?” With a mumbled spell and a gentle swoosh of his wand he produces a beautiful glass sphere inside which glows a pale-yellow light. It floats in the air and Draco watches Harry with amusement. His vibrant green eyes are wide with surprise. He instinctively reaches forward, touches the sphere with his fingertips.

“What is it?” He wants to know with the curiosity of a child.

“A light sphere. What else?” Draco explains. Harry nods and Draco just knows that Harry has no idea what a light sphere is. He doesn’t bother to explain. The last time he tried, Harry told him he sounds like Hermione Granger and Draco is still offended about that. He absolutely is _not_ an insufferable know-it-all and he resents the notion that Harry would even think of him as one.

“It looks pretty.” Harry whispers, extinguishes his wand and sets it down on the kitchen counter. He looks at it for a few minutes, then fixes his gaze on Draco and closes the gap between them.

Draco doesn’t know what Harry’s doing but he doesn’t mind impromptu hugs, he really, really doesn’t. Especially not when Harry’s only half-dressed. Draco thinks that those pyjama bottoms are riding dangerously low and putting his own wand down, he sneaks both arms around Harry’s waist, relishes in the feel of warm skin and pulls him closer. Harry’s arms rest on his shoulders and Draco closes his eyes, inhales deeply. Harry’s coconut shampoo smells perfectly wonderful. It’s also distracting. Very distracting. Although if the choice is between having a half-naked Harry Potter in his arms and the smell of coconut-scented shampoo, well, Draco knows what he prefers.

Draco doesn’t know how long they stand there like this, or why they are still standing in the kitchen, locked in a tight embrace, but he wants to suggest that they resume whatever this is upstairs and in bed. He’s about to say something when Harry starts to hum softly and slowly sways his hips from side to side. Draco chuckles, amused, but copies Harry’s hip movement nonetheless. “Are you trying to dance with me?” He whispers into Harry’s ear.

“Mhm.” Harry answers and for a moment Draco doesn’t know what to make of this. Harry doesn’t dance. Well, under duress he does, but it usually takes some serious threatening to get him to step out onto a dance floor. Up until now, he’s never voluntarily offered to dance. He’s never voluntarily initiated a dance either.

The next words out of Harry’s mouth are even more surprising and though they are barely a whisper, Draco hears them loud and clear. “I love you. Move in with me?” For a moment Draco wonders whether something nasty bit Harry while he was down in the basement, then he smiles. It’s a big, goofy smile and he’s relieved that Harry can’t see his face. He doesn’t feel like he wants to justify that Harry asking him to move into Grimmauld Place good and proper has this effect on him.

Draco remains silent for as long as he thinks he can get away with it and when Harry tries to pull back from their slow dance, he draws him back, closes his lips over Harry’s mouth and kisses him like there’s no tomorrow. He thinks he doesn’t actually need to say the words; this gesture is a perfectly good answer.

Thunder rolls overhead and lightning strikes again and this time Draco doesn’t care. Somehow, he thinks, from tonight on, he’s going to associate any future thunderstorm with the night he and Harry danced in the dark in the kitchen and Harry asked him to move in. They of course continue to dance and their celebrations don’t stop there.


	16. Burn

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want any of this?” Draco teases, deliberately, mercilessly. He fills his spoon with a copious amount of deliciously warm custard and slowly brings it to his mouth, laps at it with the tip of his tongue, slides the spoon into his mouth, closes his lips around it.

He deliberately keeps his eyes locked on Harry’s, smirks. Harry’s discomfort at the whole situation is plainly obvious. The way he wets his lips and the way his eyes have darkened with lust, want, need…it’s a dead giveaway. They are practically burning with desire and Draco is surprised at how easy this has been so far. Though, if he’s honest, he isn’t sure if Harry’s eyes are burning with desire for the dessert he _is_ eating and Harry _isn’t_ , or if they are burning with the desire to kill him. Draco hopes it’s the former. Because if it’s the latter he’s screwed.

“No.” Harry says resolutely, his voice low and croaky, finally having found enough composure to speak, even if it’s only a single syllable. The fingers of his left hand are tightly folded around the edge of the table and his left hand his clutching at his upper arm, holding on, grounding himself. Draco thinks it’s a wonderful sight, but he knows better than to compliment Harry on his restraint. Somehow, he knows he’d instantly find himself on the receiving hand of a hex.

“Suit yourself.” Draco shrugs, slides his spoon through the slice of treacle tart, dips it into the warm custard and brings it to his mouth. He’s absolutely sure that Harry isn’t going to last much longer. He’s determined. There is _no_ _way_ Harry is wining that bet. Because there’s _no way_ Harry can resist treacle tart, and he didn’t know treacle tart was on the dessert menu when he foolishly entered into the bet. For as long as Draco has known Harry – _and he’s known him for a very long time_ – he’s never been able to resist treacle tart. He can say no to everything else, even sex, but not treacle tart. Never treacle tart. It’s his weakness.

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on.” Draco says, voice low and baiting.

“Believe me, I do.” Harry speaks through gritted teeth and Draco smiles sweetly. Innocently. He’s dared Harry into resisting his favourite dessert and he knows sitting there, watching him eat it, is torture for Harry. Absolute and utter torture. Draco is loving every single second of it and he doesn’t care that he’s being utterly childish.

“You should really have some.” Draco pushes, moves out of his chair and elegantly slides into the one closer to Harry. He brings the plate with the treacle tart closer, dips his finger into the custard and smears it over Harry’s lips. “Try it.”

Harry doesn’t move his lips, sits very still, watches him. Something dangerous flickers in his eyes and Draco is excited. He throws caution into the wind. This part of the pub is secluded, nobody can see them. He slides his hand to the back of Harry’s neck, drags him close, closes his lips over Harry’s and flicks his tongue over the custard-covered soft, warm, sensitive skin.

Harry resists, doesn’t kiss him back, but Draco knows it’s only a matter of time. He mentally counts, gets to four, then Harry groans and returns the kiss with full force. Draco thinks the mixture of custard; treacle tart and Harry is his favourite yet.

“ _Fuck you_ , Draco Malfoy.” Harry mumbles when they slowly separate and Draco draws his eyebrow upward, smirks and nods solemnly.

“Later, Harry Potter, definitely later. Any which way you want.” He promises, fills his spoon with treacle tart and custard and holds it out to Harry, who snaps it up with an expression of pure and utter bliss. Draco is made up. He knew Harry wouldn’t be able to resist _not_ having his favourite desert. He also knows that Harry isn’t able to resist him either and Draco rather likes the combination of the two. He likes being Harry Potter’s weakness. Even if he has to share that spot with treacle tart. Which isn’t so bad really because he knows how to use the dessert to his advantage. If only Harry Potter’s eyes weren’t his other weakness. Because there’s not a spell in the entire world that protects against those eyes.


	17. Wings

Draco isn’t nervous at all. He also is most definitely not hiding here in the wings, he tells himself, as he eyes the podium in the centre of the stage in the Hogwarts Great Hall apprehensively and disdainfully. He’s just standing here listening, with half an ear, to the Hogwarts headmaster blabbering on and on. It’s a sign of respect, not a desperate attempt to remain unseen.

He finds it absolutely preposterous that Harry assumes he is nervous. What’s there to be nervous about anyway? He’s only expected to face a crowd of rowdy students, the entire Hogwarts teaching body and a large group of news-hungry journalists and photographers to give a speech and answer questions about his book, _Pureblood Prejudice_.

He can’t help but wonder why he agreed to do this, remembers that Harry talked him into doing it in the first place and briefly thinks that he would really like to throttle Harry. He’s momentarily distracted when a hand slides into his and fingers interlace with his own, then squeeze gently. An arm slides around his waist and he finds himself pulled flush against a very firm body he knows all too well. Harry presses a kiss into his neck and Draco sighs. He briefly abandons his plans to choke Harry and leans back, giving into the welcome distraction. He’s not nervous. Absolutely not. He doesn’t have a reason to.

“You’ll be perfect.” Harry whispers into his ear and Draco wonders why Harry feels the need to say this. Of course, he’ll be perfect. He’s only rehearsed his speech a million times and has thought of every possible question anyone could possibly ask him. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, that could go wrong. Except Draco can think of a trillion things that could go wrong and he shudders at the mere idea.

“I’ll be right here the whole time, watching, listening.” Harry’s next words surprise him a little and twisting his head around Draco half turns in Harry’s embrace and looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re not going to be sitting out there?” He questions and frowns when Harry shakes his head.

“This is your moment and yours alone. This isn’t about me and it isn’t about us. It’s about you.” He explains and Draco can see his point. Still, he’d much rather look at Harry while he’s out there holding his speech and answering questions. He supposes he could tell Harry but the words never make it past his lips, like so many other words.

Instead he looks into those vibrant green eyes, loses himself entirely in them and only blinks when his own eyes start to burn. He sighs, closes his eyes for a moment and relishes in the familiar feel of Harry’s lips capturing his in a slow kiss. He turns fully in Harry’s embrace, wraps his arms around him and deepens the kiss. He idly wonders where Harry’s calm composure is coming from and thinks that he would really like to use this kiss to suck it right out of him.

When they part Draco is dazed and dizzy and not so nervous anymore. Not that he was nervous in the first place. He takes a deep breath, nods and when the new Hogwarts headmaster introduces him formally he heads out onto the stage. He purposefully walks with an air of confidence, smiles and shakes hands with the headmaster. Draco thanks him politely for the opportunity to come and speak to the students and takes another deep breath. He briefly looks back at the wings, but Harry is nowhere to be seen. Knowing that he can’t just stand out here and say nothing, he casually rests both hands on the podium and faces his audience.

He surveys them for a minute, then draws his wand and casts an Amplifying Charm. He casts another glance around his expecting audience and launches into speech, first introducing himself, his book and his reason for being at Hogwarts. His introduction is met with enthusiastic applause and he momentarily pauses. The place is familiar but he doesn’t recognise any of the faces, belonging to young impressionable minds, that stare up at him.

Draco doesn’t quite manage to hide his surprise when he sees Harry casually leaning against the stonewall on the far left with his arms crossed over his chest. He raises a questioning eyebrow and Harry shrugs but Draco can’t deny the instant calmness he feels at knowing the one constant in his life is stood in plain sight, silently supporting him. Still, he can’t deny the distinct feeling of bitterness at having been cheated. _Bastard_ , Draco thinks and resolves to deal with Harry’s wayward Slytherin ways after his speech and as the applause dies down, he decides that the dungeons are the best place for Harry to be.


	18. Love

_“Uh, Harry, you sexy stud you!”_

 

Draco cringes and watches with the utmost horror as his drunken self throws himself at Harry, mumbles a lot of shocking nonsense and places slobbery kisses all over Harry’s face while making very poor attempts at remaining upright. It’s only Harry’s arms, sliding around his waist, that stop him from taking a spectacular tumble to the ground.

Draco wonders where and when he learnt how to giggle like a teenage girl. He certainly doesn’t remember ever laughing like this and is sure that somebody must have mixed a potion into one of his drinks. Except they are at a muggle gay club so that’s rather unlikely. Unless of course somebody slipped him muggle drugs, that is, of course, also a possibility.

“What on earth did I drink last night?” Draco queries, quite aware that his fingers are digging into Harry’s forearm and that he must be hurting him. He doesn’t care. Not even a little. This is all Harry’s fault anyway.

“Honestly, I stopped counting sometime after brightly-coloured cocktail-concoction number seven.” Harry answers him and Draco thinks he really regrets insisting to see Harry’s memories from their night out, especially because the next words out of yesterday-Draco’s mouth are quite possibly even worse than what he’s said before.

 

_“I love you so much, baby. Do you love me too? You love me too, right? Say you love me.”_

_“Yeah, I love you too.”_

 

Draco scowls, digs his fingernails deeper into Harry’s skin and watches as yesterday-Harry tips his head back and laughs. It’s an unrestrained, happy laugh and although Draco knows yesterday-Harry isn’t laughing at him he wants to punch now-Harry. He knows he’s probably a little bit irrational but he can’t help himself. Embarrassing himself in front of a crowd isn’t something he’s accustomed to.

“You should have stopped me.” He admonishes for the forth or fifth time. He isn’t quite sure anymore.

“You know I tried. You were determined.” Harry sighs at his side. “You had a good time.” He then offers and Draco growls.

“You call making a spectacular fool out of myself having a good time?”

“Those Muggles don’t know you.” Harry tries to appease him and Draco takes one last look at his drunken self, dancing – _or thrusting, maybe even grinding, he isn’t quite sure_ – between Harry’s legs and decides that he doesn’t want to see anymore of the memory. He turns around and gives Harry a pointed look. Harry nods and with a flick he finishes the memory and they emerge from the pensieve.

“For what it’s worth, Draco, I’ve never seen you let go like this before and it suits you. Hex me, for all I care, but you were really enjoying yourself and I enjoyed watching you enjoy yourself. It’s not like you stripped on the bar or anything, you danced for me, and me alone, and I quite enjoyed it. You’re nauseatingly cute when you’re drunk and I enjoyed that too.” Harry says and draws him into his arms. Draco wants to resist but those green eyes knock down any of his feeble attempts to do so. “I love every single part of you, Draco Malfoy, when will you finally get that into your head? I love your snark. I love that goofy side of yours that you almost never show and when you do you always deny that it exists. I love grumpy-decaffeinated you. I love serious you. I love sexy you, boy, do I love sexy you. I love when you do stupid things to try and impress me. I love when you deny that you do stupid things to try and impress me. I love the way you melt right into my arms when I look at you but pretend you only do it because you actually want to. I could go on and on about the things I love about you, the list is endless.”

Draco opens his mouth to interrupt but he doesn’t actually know what to say to any of that. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Harry use the word ‘ _love_ ’ quite so many times in all the time they’ve been together.

“I surrender.” He mumbles and as Harry kisses him soundly he can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s still a little bit drunk.


	19. Silk

A sigh.

“Yet more silk…”

Draco expected to hear that.

Another sigh.

“What exactly is wrong with plain cotton?” Harry queries and Draco takes a deep breath, reminds himself to keep his exasperation under control. He doesn’t even know how to begin to answer that question. Or how to answer it in a way Harry would be able to comprehend.

“I think you just answered that question yourself.” He eventually states, crosses his arms over his chest and puts on his best defiant look.

“Because it’s _plain_?” Harry asks, sighs and sits down on their bed. Draco watches him run his fingers along the brand-new midnight-blue silk sheets on their bed which Draco made while Harry was in the bathroom. He can tell Harry likes the feel of the fabric, even though he’s unlikely to admit to it. He reckons he can think of a curse or two that might force Harry to admit his true feelings about silk — _heck, Veritaserum would probably do the trick_ — but he’d rather not resolve to any of those options.

“That and just about another five hundred reasons.” Draco says, suppresses a sigh. He knows that Harry’s a bit peeved that he’s replaced all the bed linen with silk ones. He hasn’t stopped at bed linen either. He’s replaced all towels with a high-quality Egyptian cotton equivalent. Most of Harry’s underwear is now pure silk as are all cushion covers in the house. The curtains are next on Draco’s list, blended charmeuse for those, he thinks.

“I like plain. I am plain.” Harry mumbles and Draco rolls his eyes. There’s nothing plain about Harry, but he thinks trying to explain that to Harry is way too tedious. Harry has a habit of asking a million questions, just like a pesky five-year-old. So instead of explaining, he takes a step closer to Harry, gives him a gentle shove and watches with satisfaction as Harry falls back onto their bed, shuffles into the centre of it and just lies there, gloriously naked and very, very distracting. Draco climbs after him, straddles his thighs, leans over him and places his hands on either side of Harry’s head.

“Feel that? _Cool_ like a spring pool, _smooth_ like a well-polished piece of wood and _light_ like the whisper of a summer breeze.” Draco whispers, sits back and summons one of his silk scarves from the dressing room. He lets lit slide through his fingers and is pleased to note that Harry’s eyes are fixed on it. He runs it over Harry’s naked chest, teasing the warm skin and delights in the tiny little shudders that run through Harry’s body. “Tell me you don’t like this.” He prompts and Harry stares up at him, licks his lips. “It’s just as plain as cotton, but it’s a million times sexier. Just imagine this cool softness snug against your cock, keeping you warm in winter, keeping you cool in summer.”

Harry moans. “I rather think it’s going to keep me hard all day, especially with the images you’re planting in my head right now.” He says and Draco chuckles. He can feel Harry’s arousal and pushing his hips down, he presses his own arousal against it. Harry’s just had a shower and his hair is still damp. It smells of coconut. Draco half-regrets still wearing his silk boxer shorts. “You use very unfair tactics to convince me, Draco Malfoy.” Harry reprimands him and Draco laughs, braces himself on his arms and leans down.

“I know. And they always work too.” He mumbles, deliberately allowing his lips to brush Harry’s as he speaks. “Still got any objections about the redecorating I’ve been doing?” He teases, pushes his hips down again and nips Harry’s bottom lip with his teeth but doesn’t linger to actually indulge him with a kiss.

“I’ve objections about you’re being a fucking tease.” Harry sighs and Draco lets him slide his hands up his arms, relishing in the tingling sensations of Harry’s soft touch. “Less talk, more action.” He demands and Draco quirks an eyebrow at him.

“You’ve clearly never had sex on silk bed sheets, Potter, or you would not be saying this.”

“Care to enlighten me then?”

“I fear it’s my duty.” Draco smiles, kisses Harry, then takes a long moment to just look him. “How far may I go?” He asks, delighted to note that Harry’s eyes instantly darken several shades at that question.

“If the result is a mind-blowing orgasm, you may go as far as you wish.” Harry gives him the green light to do just about anything. Draco can feel his chest swell with pride. And love, if he’s honest. He knows Harry wouldn’t say that to him if he didn’t explicitly trust him.


	20. Bind

“Exactly why have you drawn up a marriage contract?” Harry asks with the most incredulous expression, Draco thinks he’s ever seen on Harry’s face and he’s seen a bunch of ridiculous expressions on his face over the years.

Draco smiles. It has taken him forever to draw up this 36-page-contract and he’s rather pleased with the outcome. He’s sure he’s thought of everything, though if Harry has any objections to any of the clauses, he’s willing to make rewrites. Given the proper justifications of course.

“Draco.” Harry’s sigh sounds anything but pleased and Draco frowns, raises a questioning eyebrow and looks at Harry, tries to gauge why his reaction is lacking the enthusiasm he’d kind of anticipated. He isn’t quite sure what reaction he’d hoped for but he’s quite certain that Harry should be looking much happier than he is right now.

“What?” He asks carefully. “It’s a legally binding agreement. There’s a spell, similar to an unbreakable vow, to make it official.” He elaborates most sincerely.

“This is _not_ what I had in mind when I asked you to marry me.” Harry says, left hand resting on top of the thick stack of parchments, fingers gently tapping against the pages.

“What did you have in mind then?” Draco wants to know, making sure to keep his tone neutral. He’s determined not to turn this into an argument. At least not until he’s got all the facts. He doesn’t even want this to be a discussion, just a normal conversation. They’ve had plenty of those over the years. Granted some turned into a discussion and some turned into an argument but Draco doesn’t think this one will.

“A wedding.” Harry says and Draco feels just a little gobsmacked. “A ridiculously romantic wedding. You and me dressed up to the nines. Friends and family. Us exchanging vows. Dancing. A honeymoon. You know, the whole shebang.” Harry continues and the sparkle in his eyes is unmistakable. He looks like Lily Nox Potter-Malfoy when she gets her small plate of cream every other week.

Draco doesn’t quite know what to say to that. Harry’s marriage proposal had been a bit of a surprise, but by no means an unwanted one. They’d been heading into that direction anyway and, if Draco is honest, which, given the circumstances he thinks he can be, there’d been moments when he himself had been tempted to propose to Harry. But he’d always sort of chickened out, reasoning that marriage isn’t really something they need. Most of the time Draco thinks their relationship is quite perfect just the way it is, although since Harry popped the question, he’s reconsidered. Hence the marriage contract.

“It’s not what you want, is it?” Harry breaks the silence between them and Draco feels his chest tighten uncomfortably at the dejected look on Harry’s face. He glances down at the plain engagement band Harry’s put on his left ring finger, then reaches out to cover Harry’s hand with his own.

“If it’s what you want, then it’s what I want.” He says with as much confidence as he can muster, knows that he doesn’t quite sound like himself but doesn’t really care either way.

They sit in silence for a moment or two, then Harry moves his hand, entwines their fingers and laughs. He likes to do that. Likes to laugh at inappropriate moments and Draco often wants to hex him for it, but often resists the temptation. “You know, that contract mightn’t at all be what I had in mind, but I think it’s growing on me.” He says. “Let’s do both.”

Draco thinks for a moment. He doesn’t have any objections to that. A romantic wedding might just be a little bit over the top but if that’s what this — _his_ — sentimental, green-eyed fool wants, Draco is only too happy to oblige. Especially when, if he is absolutely honest, that’s been his plan all along. Harry Potter may have some sneaky Slytherin traits but, Draco thinks, he’s got nothing on someone who’s been born and breed Slytherin for the last twenty-eight odd years. Draco reckons that simply telling Harry that he wants them to have a romantic wedding would have been much easier than tricking Harry into telling him his deepest, darkest desires but he also reckons it would have been only half as much fun.

Rising from his seat, Draco moves around the table and smiles when Harry almost automatically, as if he’s anticipated what Draco is about to do, moves his chair back. Draco gracefully straddles Harry’s thighs and casually rests his feet on the stretchers of the chair. He loosely drapes his arms around Harry’s shoulders just as Harry’s arms wind around his waist and their share a languid kiss, for no other reason than that they love to kiss.

“Don’t think even for a second that I don’t know that you did this on purpose.” Harry whispers against his lips as they part. Draco draws back a little further, locks eyes with his soon-to-be husband — _the idea of that makes him just a little giddy_ — and shrugs nonchalantly.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” He says with the utmost conviction and Harry laughs.

“Sure, Draco, sure. Keep telling yourself that. One day you might actually believe it.”

“You are very naughty, Potter.” Draco admonishes, though his eyes twinkle with mirth.

“And what are you going to do about it, Malfoy? Spank me?” Harry teases and Draco leans close, brushes his lips against Harry’s and flicks the tip of his tongue against Harry’s top lip.

“I know a couple of very useful binding spells…” He whispers, his voice deliberately low and sultry. Harry shudders and his eyes darken considerably.

“Draco, I swear if you don’t…” He says shakily but Draco cuts him off with a deep kiss.


	21. Mask

Draco secures his exquisitely crafted Slytherin-green and bright-silver mask, confidently strides into the elaborately decorated ballroom and at once allows his gaze to wander, taking in the room. A handsome young waiter with a floating tray approaches him and he accepts a glass of champagne, continues to look around.

He thinks the ministry has truly pulled out all the stops for this year’s masquerade ball to celebrate the yet another anniversary of the end of the Second Wizarding War. He also thinks it’s all a bit over the top, way over the top. He knows Harry hates it, loathes being forced to make an appearance year after year. But he always quietly takes it in his stride and Draco admires him for that.

Draco shifts his attention back to the room. Detailed ice sculptures carefully arranged throughout the entire place, golden chocolate fountains to satisfy sweet cravings, polite waiters providing everyone with a seemingly never-ending supply of champagne and Firewhisky and beautifully-dressed women offering up a white selection of creative-looking hors d'oeuvre.

A quintet of musicians is providing the music. Draco politely declines an invitation to a dance from young, attractive witch in a colourful peacock feather mask. Instead he moves further into the room, looking, watching, observing.

He’s looking for someone and until he’s found him he won’t allow anyone or anything to distract him from his mission. He knows Harry has already arrived because he left Grimmauld Place an hour ago.

But looking for a strikingly handsome wizard in formal black-tie dress robes won’t help Draco, he knows that much. They made a bet. It’s silly and stupid but oh so exhilarating.

Harry’s concealed himself – _using_ _either_ _Muggle_ _or_ _magical_ _means_ , _or_ _a_ _mixture_ _of_ _both_ – and Draco’s supposed to find him. If he can do so before midnight, which is when all the masks drop, Harry owes him a favour, a very naughty favour.

Draco smiles to himself. He’s got another hour to find Harry and he knows he’s not using his invisibility cloak. That one’s still at home, safely locked away in Harry’s magical safe. Draco knows that for a fact because he saw Harry put it there after conceding that Draco would never find him were he to make use of that particular garment.

Draco begs to differ but he knows better than to challenge Harry on that. Being a Gryffindor with a worryingly large amount of Slytherin cunningness means that Harry can sometimes be a bit unhinged, though Draco would never mention that to Harry. He’s quite attached to every part of his body and thinks Harry would – _at_ _the_ _very_ _least_ – hex his balls blue.

He briefly settles his gaze on a tall blond wizard with strangely vibrant green eyes, wonders for a moment whether Harry’s used Polyjuice Potion but dismisses the idea almost immediately. Harry hates the taste of it and Draco just knows that Harry would never ever willingly drink it. Not for one of their games.

A glamour perhaps, Draco muses. They are notoriously difficult to maintain but Harry is an extraordinary wizard, when he wants to be. It’s a distinct possibility. If Harry’s smart, which Draco concedes he is, though he doesn’t intend on telling him, he’s found a way to conceal those piercing green eyes of his. Maybe he’s even grown his hair out?

Draco takes a long hard look at a possible candidate. Brown eyes, long black, shiny hair, braided tightly, sparkling emeralds and diamonds woven into the braid. He slides his eyes over the young man’s body, instantly dismisses it. The proportions are all wrong, glamour or not, he knows it’s not Harry.

With a smirk he continues his search, expertly checking and judging every single wizard in the room. He momentarily wonders whether Harry might be hiding inside a beautiful ballgown but he dismisses that thought almost instantly, knows that Harry isn’t quite as daring. Draco chuckles to himself and suddenly he knows what naughty favour he’s going to ask of Harry.

About half an hour later he thinks he’s finally found the very man he’s been looking for all night. He approaches the drop-dead gorgeous young dark-haired man with pale-blue eyes, who’s wearing a soft silver shiny hand-painted mask with torturous black branches that look positively terrifying and gives him his most dashing smile.

He purposefully leans in to reach for a small canapé from a floating tray behind the man and deliberately brushes his fingers against the man’s hand. “Care for a dance?” He asks, eyes locked on his target. He knows that if Harry doesn’t want to give himself away he’s going to have to accept the invitation and miraculously he does.

Draco quietly leads him out onto the dancefloor, draws him closer than strictly necessary and guides him into a mid-tempo waltz, which he knows is the only dance Harry manages without stepping onto his dance partner’s feet. They dance for the better part of ten minutes, then come to a graceful halt and Draco reaches out to brush the back of his hand against Harry’s cheek. “You look amazing.” He whispers, then boldly steals a kiss.

When they part, a hand closes around his wrist and Draco finds himself dragged out of the ballroom and onto a deserted terrace. He watches, with mild amusement, as Harry resolves the glamour, removes his frightening mask and carefully rids himself of something in his eyes, then familiar green eyes look at him with definite curiosity. “How did you know?” He whispers and Draco laughs, shrugs.

“I know my man.” He says self-assuredly and it’s Harry’s turn to laugh. The clock inside the ballroom strikes midnight and with a swoosh of his hand, Draco removes his own mask, links arms with Harry and they return inside to rejoin the festivities.


	22. Music

_“99% of women say they don't like men who wear leather pants. Which works out perfectly, since 100% of men who wear leather pants don't like women.”_

Draco rolls his eyes and scowls at the idiot up on stage who calls himself a comedian of some sort or other. He itches to draw his wand and hex that imbecile off stage but Harry’s dragged him to a Muggle gay bar for a comedy show and he knows it would be inappropriate, not to mention illegal, to give into his urges.

He chances a sideways glance at Harry, who is laughing rather unrestrainedly and Draco can’t help but frown. Harry, apparently sensing he’s being watched, turns to look at him and it takes Draco quite a bit of effort not to smile. So that comedian isn’t funny but he can never quite resist that twinkle in Harry’s eyes, no matter how much he tries.

“You are not enjoying this.” Harry states flatly. His smile pales and Draco wonders whether he might get away with lying. Instead he sighs and shakes his head.

“He’s not funny.”

“Give him credit, he’s trying. It takes guts to go up there.” Harry shrugs and Draco rolls his eyes again and leans closer to Harry.

“Why shouldn’t you play leap frog with a unicorn?” He mumbles and Harry looks at him with a frown.

“No idea.” He says and Draco grins.

“Because those horns are a right pain in the arse.” He smirks and Harry throws his head back, roars with laughter. Draco thinks he rather likes it. The sound of Harry’s laughter, it’s music to his ears. He allows Harry a moment to calm down a little. “Seriously though. I’m gay and I wouldn’t be seen dead in leather pants. It’s a crime.” He says and raises a questioning eyebrow when Harry places his hand on his thigh, squeezes and smiles mischievously.

“I don’t think so, I think you’d look rather _hot_ in a pair of tight leather pants.” Harry says, sounding as nonchalant as though they’re discussing tomorrow’s weather.

Draco scowls and shudders when he feels an odd sensation wash over him. He looks down at where Harry’s hand is still resting on his thigh and his eyes widen. “ _You didn’t!_ ” He protests.

“As you can see, I did.” Harry grins and Draco shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. Harry has transfigured his snug-fitting black trousers into a pair of black leather pants that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination and much to Draco’s horror, Harry’s hand is now sliding up the inside of his thigh and his fingertips are deliberately brushing against his cock, teasing it.

To make matters even worse, Harry’s attention is no longer on him but back on the not funny guy up on stage and Draco knows he’s ignoring him on purpose.

He idly contemplates exactly how he’s going to murder Harry, it’s a very good distraction from what Harry’s fingers are so absentmindedly doing to him, though it doesn’t stop him from getting hard.

By the time Harry turns his head to face him again, he’s managed to come up with seven rather wonderful ways he’d like to murder Harry, each one more fantastic than the one before that.

When Harry leans closer and fixes him with wanton, dark green eyes, Draco instantly forgets all about his revenge and sucks in a sharp breath. Harry’s lips are almost close enough for them to kiss. “You are hot in leather, so fucking hot.” Harry murmurs, breathing hotly against his lips. Draco thinks he might just come in his way too tight leather pants. “I want your pulsing horn to be a delightful pain in my arse.” Harry continues and Draco can’t quite keep that low moan from escaping his slightly parted lips as he unintentionally thrusts his hips up, pushing into Harry’s touch.

“When did you become so Slytherin?” He asks.

“Since your bad influence started rubbing off on me.” Harry chuckles, squeezes his hard cock through those leather pants and then swiftly rises to his feet. He pulls Draco up with him and drags him across the bar to the gents. Draco doesn’t even attempt to object. His transfigured leather pants rub uncomfortably against his hard cock but Draco firmly keeps his eye on the prize. If Harry wants to take a bite from the forbidden fruit that is semi-public sex, he’s most definitely not going to say no…even if it means wearing leather pants.


	23. Eyes

“What does that say?”

Draco frowns, scowls and squints almost automatically in a pathetic attempt to clear away the blur and sharpen his focus. “Hold it any further away and not even an eagle will able to read that.” He snaps, thoroughly annoyed with Harry.

“Draco, I’m sat across from you at the kitchen table, not stood on the other side of the room.” Harry sighs and Draco wearily watches him put down the parchment and reach for the Daily Prophet. “What about this headline?” He asks.

“ _Harry Potter Is An Insufferable Annoyance!_ ” Draco growls, draws his wand from its wrist holster and angrily flicks it at the paper in Harry’s hands. “ _Incendio_!” He doesn’t even bother with a silent spell or wandless magic, but yells the incantation as though he’s eleven-years-old and has only just learnt his first magic spell.

“Actually, it said _Draco Malfoy Is In Denial About Needing To Wear His New Glasses_.” Harry grins and Draco doesn’t even bother to warn him before he hits him with a stinging hex that’s slightly more potent than strictly necessary. He doesn’t even feel sorry when Harry winces and gingerly rubs his shoulder to ease the pain.

“I do _not_ need glasses!” He snaps, pushes his chair back with such force that Harry pulls a face at the resulting screech and stalks out of the room. He almost falls over the blurry black ball of fur that is Lily Nox Potter-Malfoy’s daughter, swears, makes his way up the stairs and slams their bedroom door closed with such force that it very nearly comes off its hinges.

He doesn’t think Harry is going to give it a rest and he’s right. Less than five minutes pass before his husband stands in their bedroom, holding the pair of glasses the ophthalmologist healer at St Mungo’s custom-designed for him just last week.

“Just try them on.” Harry pushes. He is relentless and Draco throws him a murderous death glare. His best yet, he thinks.

“There’s _nothing_ wrong with my eyes.” He snarls, crosses his arms over his chest and defiantly stares out of the window. He knows he’s acting like a petulant child and not like a grown man but he simply doesn’t care. He firmly ignores Harry who is now approaching their bed and pretends not to pay him any heed when he climbs onto the bed and sits in its centre facing him. “I’m not wearing them.” Draco mumbles.

“For me.” Harry pushes. “For your insufferable annoyance of a husband.” He adds and Draco bites back the smile that’s threatening to give him away. He hates how Harry always manages to worm his way under his skin and continues to ignore him instead. He’s determined not to relent and is therefore all the more annoyed when Harry simply pushes those dammed glasses onto his face. “Tell me that doesn’t feel better.” He whispers. “Tell me there’s no difference and I’ll never force you to wear them again.”

Draco sighs, slowly turns his head to face Harry and sucks in a sharp breath. He can’t quite remember the last time he saw Harry so very clearly. Those piercing green eyes bore into him with such intensity that Draco can feel his heartbeat increase. He blinks, glances around the room and finds that suddenly everything is in perfect shape, nothing is blurry or out of focus.

“I want magical intervention.” He grumbles, quite aware that he still sounds like a petulant child but just this once he really doesn’t care. He does wonder how Harry still puts up with him after so many years of the same spiel but somehow Harry just never complaints and so just this once he thinks it’s okay to let Harry see this vulnerable, insecure side of him. Fifteen years marriage have to count for something, don’t they?

“Don’t be ridiculous. You look so freaking _sexy_ , you have no idea.” Harry whispers, moves closer and straddles him. “You are so _hot_ with those glasses on.” He murmurs and Draco stares at those green eyes, all intense and smouldering and all his defences slip away, just like they always do.

“Not in public though.” He says and Harry nods, seemingly understanding exactly what Draco wants to convey. Yes, fifteen years of marriage really do count for something. Words don’t matter anymore because Harry can read him like a book, then again he always could, even before they got together.

“In public I’ll be your eyes.” Harry promises, frames Draco’s face with both his hands and leans in for a kiss. Draco lets him, doesn’t even want to curse him for having won yet another debate and decides he’s most definitely getting soft in his old age. Or has he always been like this?

When Harry pulls away, Draco blinks, gently tucks a stray strand of Harry’s unruly dark locks behind his ear and smiles. “I love you.”

“Hm, I know. I love you too.” Harry smiles and they share another kiss during which Draco thanks his lucky stars for the love of his life.


	24. Moon

“I shouldn’t like to be a werewolf in China.” Draco mumbles, dips his fingertips into the cool waters of the lake beside him and smiles as Harry laughs softly next to him.

“They sure do worship the moon.” He says and focuses on the three half-submerged stone pagodas that reflect tiny moons on the water’s surface. Draco watches him count and raises his eyebrow at Harry in a silent question once he’s finished.

“32, including the real one up in the sky and it’s reflection.”

“You could make a fortune selling wolfsbane in his country.” Draco chuckles and shrugs when Harry gives him a very pointed and very disapproving look. He knows Harry’s feelings about lycanthropy. Jokes about the subject are ill-advised at the best of times.

“That’s not a nice thing to say, Draco.” He chides. Draco rolls his eyes.

“I said _could_ , I didn’t say I was planning on doing it. And in any case, the Chinese Ministry for Magic supplies all lycanthropes with wolfsbane free of charge. They have a department solely for this purpose. All in the name of harmonious cohabitation with the Chinese Muggles, of course.”

“They do? They have?”

Draco ignores Harry’s question entirely but offers more information anyways. “Monasteries all across China are sanctuaries for werewolves. The monks offer them refuge. Infection rates in this country are ridiculously low. Wouldn’t surprise me if they manage to be the first country to rid themselves of lycanthropes entirely.”

He sometimes doesn’t know whether Harry’s lack of knowledge on the wizarding community in other countries around the world is infuriating or endearing. They have spent two weeks in this country already and over the course of their holiday it’s become abundantly clear to Draco that Harry doesn’t know much about what’s going on in the international wizarding world. He wonders whether he should cut Harry some slack, he did after all spend all of his time at Hogwarts fighting a megalomaniac Dark Lord, but decides that he doesn’t want to make it quite so easy on Harry. There is of course the fact that Harry was raised by imbecilic Muggles and missed out on eleven years of wizarding education but Draco decides to overlook that too.

“You ought to transfer to the Department for International Cooperation, Harry. Might broaden your horizons.” He sighs.

“Can’t I just pick your brain instead?” Harry crooks his head sideways, smiles lopsidedly. Draco thinks that Harry looks quite irresistible like that but doesn’t think he’ll ever tell him. At least not in the near future.

“I should start charging you for all those questions.” He smirks.

“You _could_ make a fortune.” Harry teases and they both laugh.

“Did you know that Chinese healers and potion masters are renowned and well-respected? Especially among Muggles, though they, of course, have no idea who they really are. The Chinese character for medicinal doctor, _yisheng_ , was literally derived from the Chinese character for _wizard_. The Muggles here have no idea it’s actually magic that’s curing their ailments.” Draco volunteers another piece of information that he knows will stun Harry. “Voldemort would have never managed to gain a following in this country. Wizards and witches, although they keep their true identities secret, are so well respected here, they’d have laughed into his face.”

“You should put that into your next book.” Harry says and Draco thinks that his suggestion isn’t such a bad idea, actually. He doubts British wizards and witches know much about magic in the Far East. Then again, they’ve met a few wizards and witches during their travels through China and those don’t appear to know a lot about the magical way of life in Europe either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These days the traditional Chinese character for doctor is written 醫生 (yīshēng), however 毉 is another variant of the first character (yī) and if you look closely you will see that the, nowadays, lesser used character 毉 contains the character 巫. The meaning of 巫 is "shaman, witch or wizard. What Draco is telling Harry about the meaning behind this character is actually completely true.  
> As for where Draco and Harry are in this scene, they are in Hangzhou at the West Lake and if you want to know the reason as to why Harry counts 32 moons, read more here: https://alwaystravelicious.com/2013/08/23/three-pools-mirroring-moon-west-lake/  
> If you have any questions, let me know.


	25. Candle

It doesn’t take Draco long to find James and Lily Potter’s tombstone. It’s almost as if his feet intentionally carry him to their final resting place here in Godric’s Hollow. He doesn’t even need to think which turn to take first. He does know that’s nonsense. He knows perfectly well that it’s simply his unconsciousness that remembers the short walk from the cemetery entrance to the grave. He has, after all, been here before. With Harry, who visits regularly.

He’s never been to pay his respects to Harry’s parents all by himself though. It’s never felt right before. It still doesn’t feel right, but he needs to talk to James and Lily Potter. He knows they won’t be able to answer him but it doesn’t matter. He just wants them to listen to what he’s got to say. It’s important that they listen.

Oddly enough it’s a beautiful day. The sun’s out and the gentle spring breeze is rather refreshing. It’s warm, but not hot, which suits Draco perfectly. A glance around the cemetery tells him he’s the only visitor and that’s even better. He feels a bit stupid anyway and he’d rather not other people listen to what he’s about to say.

He crouches down, draws his wand and dutifully tidies the grave, vanishes the wilted and dried flowers from Harry’s last visit and replaces them with a large bouquet of white lilies. There are seventeen lilies, one for each year that he’s known Harry ever since they met for the first time at the tender age of eleven.

“Mr Potter, Mrs Potter. James. Lily. Honestly, I feel a bit stupid crouching here talking to a stone, pretending you can hear me. I’ve never done anything like this before, I know Harry does it all the time but I can’t help feeling pretty silly about it. I don’t generally do stupid but I’m willing to make an exception, just this once. This is important.” Draco pauses, unnecessarily rearranges the lilies and then, quite uncharacteristically, decides to sit down right there on the dirty ground in front of the grave. He nervously twiddles with his wand, stares at Harry’s parents’ names and their photographs for what feels like hours and eventually clears his throat.

“So, umm, I’m not sure how this whole afterlife thing works, but as you probably know, Harry asked me to marry him and well, we’re about to make an official announcement but before we do that, I really need you to know that I do truly love your son, with all my heart, and have for a number of years now. I’m sure you know all about our troubled past, you’ve probably been watching from above all this time, and maybe, if you were still alive you might tell Harry to stay away from me, maybe you can even do that from behind the veil, what do I know about all that, but I really hope you won’t do that, because well, like I said I really do love Harry and I want to be with him forever. I know it’s him who asked me to marry him and asking for his hand in marriage from both of you is a bit weird, but I want to ask anyway. I promise I’ll try my hardest to make him happy, to keep him safe and to look after him, regardless of whatever challenges life throws at us. I’m not going to promise you it’s always going to be perfect but I can promise you that I won’t ever give up on Harry or what he and I have and I won’t ever intentionally hurt him or make him sad. I’ll never turn my back on him, no matter how tough the battle is going to get.”

Draco falls silent, suddenly doesn’t know what else he could possibly say to a tombstone of all things. He really feels absolutely ridiculous and he hopes he’s still alone. He does feel a bit better now that he’s said everything he’s come to say and he supposes he should probably get up and leave but somehow, he doesn’t want to. He feels strangely comfortable just sitting here and swooshing his wand, he conjures a dark-green and silver candle. He’s about to ignite it when the sound of a very familiar voice actually manages to frighten him.

“My parents _would_ _never_ tell me to stay away from you.” Harry says from where he stands behind the tombstone and Draco wants to snap at him and hex him for having followed him and for having secretly listened, but one look at Harry’s face makes Draco reconsider. Those vibrant green eyes are glistening with unshed tears. There’s a maelstrom of emotions swirling around in them and Draco thinks he doesn’t recognise half of them.

“How much did you hear?” He asks quietly, watches Harry step out from behind the tombstone, watches him draw his wand and etch an infinity symbol into the candle, watches him light it with a murmured spell.

“Everything.” Harry says and Draco wonders whether Harry following him to Godric’s Hollow is a sign from Harry’s parents, a sign that they approve of their union.

“I see.” Draco nods, doesn’t know what else to say and studiously avoids eye contact with Harry as he crouches down beside him.

“I love you.” Harry’s voice is warm and Draco can’t help but smile. “You went to see my parents to ask for their permission to marry me, to ask for their blessing. Draco Malfoy, I freaking love you. So much. You have no idea.”

Draco turns his head ever so slightly, looks at Harry and thinks that he does know exactly how much Harry loves him because he loves him just as much, if not more. He decides that he doesn’t care that they’re in a cemetery. He places his hands on either side of Harry’s face, draws him close and kisses him passionately. The spring breeze picks up for a brief moment and Draco smiles into the kiss. He’s sure that was Lily Potter, approving of their relationship. He isn’t going to tell Harry about that though because Harry will quite possibly think he’s insane.


	26. Mark

“Will you show it to me? Your mark, I mean. Can I see it?”

The question is unexpected and Draco can’t help but snap his head around and stare at Harry, quite incredulously so. He cannot comprehend why Harry would want to know for sure that Voldemort branded him for life, made him something he never ever wanted to be, made him something his parents forced him into. He frowns and searches Harry’s eyes for something, anything. He doesn’t quite know what exactly he’s looking for, but he supposes he’ll know when he sees it.

After the war, theirs is an unlikely and tender alliance, one almost everyone around them frowns upon, once hardly anyone can understand. Strangely enough those people Draco never thought would understand, are now the only ones who do. Eight years after they first met, Harry has finally accepted his friendship and Draco tells himself almost every day that he isn’t about to give up on the second chance he’s been given. He doesn’t care what his parents say, doesn’t care what his fellow housemates say, doesn’t care what the press says and most definitely doesn’t care what the rest of the wizarding world says. He and Harry are finally friends and it’s a beautiful feeling, one he can’t get enough of, he craves it about as much as he craves the air he breathes.

 _Let them talk_ , he thinks, _what do they know?_ They don’t know that Harry saved his life when he could’ve left him to perish in an out of control cursed fire. They don’t know that Harry has forgiven him for the role he played in allowing the Death Eaters access to Hogwarts and everything else that happened. They don’t know that this time around Harry made the first move, that it was him who extended a hand, offering more than just a simple truce, offering friendship.

“Why?” Draco can’t help but ask. He’s been very careful to keep his dark mark hidden from sight, even now that spring has come around and the temperatures are on the rise. The mark, it scares people and Draco is tired of scaring people. He just wants to quietly finish his education and make something out of his life. He wants to do what _he_ wants to do, doesn’t want anyone to meddle and tell him what’s expected of him. He won’t ever let anyone tell him what’s expected of him. No, those times are over. Harry’s offer of friendship helped him grow a backbone and he quite likes the feeling.

“Curiosity.” Harry shrugs. “It’s fine if you don’t…if you aren’t comfortable.” He adds and Draco sighs.

“You’ll hate it.” He mumbles. “You’ll judge me.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever fall in love with it, true, but I couldn’t hate something that’s a part of you. You don’t represent what it stands for. You never did.” Harry says and Draco can’t help but wonder if he’s reading too much into Harry’s words. Sometimes, just sometimes, the things Harry says, well, he wants them to mean more, much more.

Draco hesitates for several minutes, shuffles into a cross-legged position and slowly pushes the sleeve of his thin, blue shirt up, reveals his dark mark to Harry. He avoids looking at it, gazes off into the distance instead. He doesn’t want to see the contempt in Harry’s eyes. He shudders when Harry’s fingers suddenly ghost over his left inner forearm, tracing the mark. Unable to resist, Draco looks down at it and he can’t decide whether he wants to push Harry’s fingers away or curl his own around them.  
  
“Look at me.” Harry says. His voice is low and gentle and it sends a thrill of something strange down Draco’s spine. He obliges, looks at Harry and promptly drowns in those vibrant sparkling green eyes. “It’s not the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but you make up for it. Tenfold.” He says and Draco thinks he knows Harry is sincere. He wants to say something but words fail him.

With a soft sigh he pulls his arm away, curls his fingers around Harry’s wrist and squeezes gently. He lets himself fall back into the grass, stares at the blue sky and doesn’t, absolutely doesn’t, know what to make of Harry’s words. Did Harry just call him beautiful? He wants to ask, but he thinks it’s a rather stupid question. Instead he turns his head slightly, looks up at Harry and finds that Harry is smiling down at him. He doesn’t know why, wants to ask about that too, but those words won’t make it past his lips either and so he decides that some things are best left unspoken. Especially when they involve having funny feelings for your ex-nemesis-turned-friend.


	27. Beneath

Draco makes one more fruitless attempt to snatch his thick manuscript from beneath Lily Nox Potter-Malfoy and is promptly rewarded with a powerful swat of her paw, a snarky hiss and a defiant green-eyed stare.

“Lily Nox Potter-Malfoy, I swear I will transfigure you into a teapot, you green-eyed _monster_!” He swears, attempts to stare her down but blinks before she does. Her unperturbed calmness irks him and he draws his wand any points it at her. He isn’t about to actually transfigure her into a teapot, but fervently hopes the threat of the distinct possibility of spending the rest of her life as a teapot will make her move, give up and surrender his manuscript. As he suspected, she continues to look rather unimpressed, lifts her left front paw and licks it with her rough, pink tongue, then yawns lazily. It’s as if she just knows that for all the abuse he throws at her, he’d never actually hurt her, never actually seriously hex her.

“You insufferable hairball you, I need those papers!” He snaps, wonders whether anger might persuade her to remove herself from atop his documents. He doubts it. She’s positively mellow, when she’s not aloof and standoffish that is. There are times when she’s loving and snuggles…but ever since she’s grown out of kittenhood those times are reserved — _almost exclusively_ — for none other than Harry fucking Potter.

“Insulting her won’t get you anywhere, you know?” Harry offers his opinion from the doorway and Draco glares at him, throws his hands up in frustration and ungracefully slumps down on their sofa, crosses his arms over his chest and sighs.

“She’s doing it just to spite me, and it’s your fault.” He says, watches Harry’s eyes widen comically and throws a stinging hex at him just because he can. Harry winces but takes it in his stride, moves across the room and boldly straddles his thighs. Draco doesn’t object at all, in fact he quite likes Harry’s weight on his thighs, likes to be trapped beneath Harry. Not that he’s ever confessed that to Harry, though he’s not ignorant enough to deny that he knows that Harry knows. Harry knows a lot of things about him that he’s never said out loud and most likely never will.

“How is it my fault?” Harry asks, then glances at Lily Nox Potter-Malfoy and reaches out to gently ruffle her fur. “Lils, move, will you? Daddy needs his papers.” He whispers and Draco watches with utter disbelief as their — _his_ , she was Harry’s birthday present to him — cat meows in response, rises slowly, stretches languidly and jumps off the sofa.

“You have corrupted that cat, you turned her against me.” Draco sighs, rests his head back and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t respond to Harry’s attempt to lure him into sharing a kiss.

“I’ve done no such thing.” Harry murmurs. “She’s a cat. I’ve about as much control over her as the next person.” He explains and Draco reminds himself that Harry’s lips brushing against his as he speaks aren’t at all distracting. “I think she just likes to rile you up.” He adds and Draco sighs yet again.

“I wish she wouldn’t always do that.”

“Talk to her?” Harry offers and Draco scoffs, laughs drily.

“Like that’s going to work.” He says, lifts his head slightly and stares into Harry’s impossibly green eyes, drowning in them like he always does. “That’s just the way the world works, isn’t it? Everyone likes a saviour, don’t they? You are everyone’s hero, including Lily’s.”

“You are mine.” Harry mumbles, kisses him again and Draco almost resolves to give into the kiss, but only _almost_.

“You say the most ridiculous things, Harry James Potter.”

“Oh, but you love me for it.”

Draco gives him a pointed look but uncrosses his arms and drapes them around Harry’s shoulders. He isn’t going to fuel Harry’s delusions of grandeur any further than he has to. _Silence is golden_ , he thinks, draws Harry closer for a kiss and yelps when Lily Nox Potter-Malfoy chooses exactly that moment to jump between them and get comfortable on his belly and chest. Harry throws his head back laughing and snorts something about jealousy. Draco growls, glares at both Harry and their cat, pets Lily Nox Potter-Malfoy and ignores Harry. He thinks he quite likes having his favourite person and his favourite cat on top of him but Harry doesn’t need to know that. Neither does the furry, black, green-eyed monster that stole his heart three years ago.


	28. Dirty Talk

_Lying_ _in_ _bed_ _in_ _the_ _candlelight_ , _thinking_ _about_ _you_ _kissing_ _me…_

Draco stares at the words that have appeared on the parchment before him, swallows hard and surreptitiously shuffles in his seat. He’s stuck in the most boring meeting with his agent, editor and publisher and by the sound of it, things they are far from finished. Draco really doesn’t want to be here, hasn’t even been listening properly to what’s being discussed, but it’s not like he can walk out and apparate home, even if that’s what he really wants to do.

He reaches for his quill, idly toys with it for a moment, then scratches a response onto the parchment.

_Harry?_

It’s a stupid question really. Nobody else but Harry has the enchanted notebook linked to his own.

 _You_ _said_ _you’d_ _be_ _home_ _an_ _hour_ _ago…_

 _Still_ _in_ _that_ _blasted_ _meeting_. _I’m_ _sorry_. Draco replies, intrigued by what Harry’s playing at. He taught Harry the spell that actives the link between the two notebooks, but they’ve never actually used it. Draco mostly uses it to create a backup copy of his manuscripts when he’s writing. It certainly isn’t supposed to be used for what Harry is misusing it for right now.

_Does that mean I have to get the party started without you?_

_What party?_ Draco writes his question. 

_The one that involves me naked on our bed, touching myself…_

Draco shudders as he reads the answer once, twice, trice, takes a long moment to compose himself, then responds with a shaky hand. _Tell me more._

_Where would you like me to start?_

It’s a teasing question and Draco thinks for a few minutes, then pens his answer. _Where would you like to start?_ He answers with a question of his own.

 _My lips. I’m teasing them with the quill feather, it’s a bit like burying my face in your hair, so soft. Trailing it down my chest now, swirling it around my navel, flicking it against my cock. Oh, Draco, this feels so fucking good. Your hand would of course feel so much better…_ The answer is an almost illegible scrawl and Draco shuffles uncomfortably in his seat.

 _Fuck me, Harry!_ He replies, aroused and his mind filled with very inappropriate images that make it entirely impossible for him to focus on the meeting.

_Well, honestly, I was rather hoping you’d fuck me! I want your hard cock filling me up, stretching me, thrusting into me…claiming me!_

_Damn, Harry, you’ll be the fucking death of me._ Draco writes and his hand actually shakes as he scratches his quill across the parchment. He tries to listen to the conversation between the people who are responsible for getting his next book published. Not because he suddenly particularly cares about what they have to say but because he wants to know how much longer he has to stay put.

 _I’m so hard._ Harry’s response makes Draco groan in frustration and his agent glares at him. He gives her his sweetest smile, then resumes scribbling in the inconspicuous black notebook in front of him.

_You aren’t the only one, Harry Potter. Don’t you fucking dare come! Your cock is mine!_

_I’m starting to regret this whole thing. Me talking dirty was supposed to get you home earlier._

_Try harder._ Draco replies, desperately trying to think of a way to escape this meeting.

_Picture this. I just had a shower, my hair is still a bit wet, I’m naked, sprawled out on the bed… Those silk sheets, so soft, fuck, just writhing against them makes me want to come. I’ve got one hand wrapped around my hard cock, stroking it. With the other hand I’m slowly finger-fucking myself, preparing myself for when you get home, for when you fuck me…_

Draco just about manages to disguise his moan with a cough and resolutely and tries not to look mortified when his agent, his publisher and his editor stop talking and turn to face him with questioning expressions. He knows that a smile won’t work this time and pulling a face, he decides to use his flushed face to his advantage. He feigns a coughing fit, looks rather apologetic and promptly rises to his feet. “I’m very sorry, but I feel terrible. I’m burning up. I think I might be coming down with something.” He excuses himself, faking a hoarse rasp, and before they can manage to stop him, he gathers his belongings and dashes from the room, practically runs out of the building and ducks into a small alleyway from which he apparates straight home. He dumps his things on the chest of drawers in the hallway and more or less flies up the stairs in his desperation to get to his and Harry’s bedroom.

The sight that greets him has him clutching the doorknob to steady himself as a dizzy spell threatens to drag him to the floor. The room his warm, the fireplace crackles softly on the other side of the room, enchanted candles float near the ceiling and the fresh smell of coconut wafts through the air. Harry is sprawled out in the centre of their bed on top of a fresh set of dark green silk sheets. He’s naked and his bronze skin is flushed from the effort it’s taking him to control the slow movement of his hand on his cock and Draco sucks in a sharp breath and stares, mesmerised.

“Hmm, I knew that last message would make you come home.” Harry smirks, his eyes glinting mischievously. Draco groans and wonders for the millionth time exactly when Harry picked up all those Slytherin traits. He grips the doorknob that bit harder, his knuckles whitening from the effort it takes him.

“Are you going to join me or do you want to watch?” Harry asks and Draco really wants to move but his feet won’t obey him. He licks his lips and lets his eyes wander over Harry’s body, drinking in the sight and savouring it for all eternity.

“Watch.” He eventually manages to breathe and Harry grins.


	29. Candy

“You aren’t easy to track down.”

Draco looks up from his book, glances at Harry and scowls. So much for a peaceful afternoon, spend in the library’s new reading corner, with his nose buried in a good book… It’s the first day of the Christmas holiday and most students have left for the Hogwarts Express to return home, expect of course Draco. These days home has lost its magic, somehow Hogwarts feels a bit more comfortable. Despite the battle that took place here a little over six months ago.

“Clearly you managed anyway.” He says with a shrug and frowns in mild annoyance when Harry plunks himself into the comfortable armchair opposite him without waiting for an invitation. Draco momentarily wonders whether he should bother with reprimanding Harry for his lack of manners, but thinks that it’s unlikely to have an impact. Harry Potter will always be Harry Potter.

“Is there a reason you aren’t on the Hogwarts Express back to London?” He asks. That had been Harry’s plan, hadn’t it? At least he thinks that’s what Harry told him.

“Maybe.” Harry grins and Draco gives him a blank look.

“Potter, you _are_ hilarious.” He deadpans.

“We’re all alone in the library, you can drop the pretence, _Malfoy_.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Draco asks, but his amused smile gives him away. He is thrilled that Harry appears to be staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, though he cannot fathom why Harry would want to, but he isn’t going to tell him that.

“Then I’m not going to give you your Christmas present.” Harry shrugs with such a sly smirk that Draco can’t help but wonder – _yet again_ – whether the Sorting Hat put him into the right house all those years ago. He scowls, fixes his eyes on Harry and glares icy daggers. “Let me know when you’re done trying to stare holes into me.” Harry adds with an air of nonchalance, lungs forward and steals the book from Draco’s lap.

“It’s not Christmas yet.” Draco feigns disinterest and tries to get the book back from Harry, but much to his annoyance, Harry swiftly moves it out of his reach. “Do you have to be so terribly annoying?” He growls.

“I don’t have to, but it riles you up, which is amusing.”

“I am not here for your entertainment.” Draco mumbles, thoroughly fed up and decidedly distracted when Harry places a rather large square-shaped box in his lap.

“Ah but you are, Draco, you are. Here, _this_ should get me back into your good books.” Harry smiles sweetly and Draco casts a longing look at the book Harry stole from him. He really wants to throw it at Harry’s head, but instead he expertly undoes the Slytherin-green silk ribbon, that’s wrapped around the box, briefly marvels at the hand-drawn tiny silver Hungarian Horntail dragons that decorate the black wrapping paper, then carefully removes it and eyes the plain midnight-blue box he finds inside.

He doesn’t put it past Harry to simply have wrapped a bunch of boxes, all stacked into each other, but he’s not going to tell Harry about his sneaking suspicions. Instead he opens the box and finds himself staring at the most beautifully-shaped chocolate-coated assortment of candies: a tiny broomstick, a snake, an owl, an elf, a centaur, a kneazle, a crup, a snitch, a potions book, a wand, a miniature Hogwarts train and, of course, a dragon.

“Something for your sweet tooth.” Harry says and Draco just about catches his smile as he moves to stand and returns the book to him. “Enjoy.” He adds, then walks off, leaving Draco to stare after him. Still half in trance, he reaches for the broomstick candy and takes a tentative bite. The chocolate-covered candy is filled with pineapple-flavoured jelly and Draco can’t help but moan softly at the explosion of delightful sweetness in his mouth. He has no idea how or why Harry knows that he likes chocolate-covered jellies and staring to the box he has to fight the strong urge to finish off the entire box of sweet treats right this moment.

He eyes the remaining eleven treats with longing and it is then that he spots the folded parchment that’s tapped to the inside of the lid. He carefully removes it, unfolds it and reads Harry’s message.

 

_Draco,_

_One down, eleven to go._

_If you want your next gift, come find me tomorrow at ten am by the Quidditch pitch._

_Harry_

 

Draco doesn’t quite understand why Harry’s doing what he’s doing but he thinks he doesn’t want to contemplate that right now. Trying to understand would mean wondering whether Harry is attempting to woo him and with their brand-new tentative friendship he really doesn’t need to complicate matters even further. It’s only been a few months. He has no use for inappropriate thoughts about Harry Potter of all people.


	30. Hidden

“Draco Malfoy! Tell me again why I haven’t divorced you yet! You certainly deserve it.”

The thunderous – _and somewhat murderous_ – look on Harry’s face is rather amusing and Draco arches an eyebrow and smirks. “Because the sex is good?” He offers and Harry glares daggers at him, growls, throws himself onto the sofa of their luxurious hotel suite in Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland, balls up the parchment he’s holding and defiantly throws into the direction of the fireplace. Draco holds up his hand, slows the paper ball and plucks it out of mid-air with minimum effort.

“I should have never told you anything about the Triwizard Tournament.” Harry sighs and continues to glower. “You bloody well know that I hate riddles. They make no sense. Why in Merlin’s good name would you give me one and disguise it as a pre-birthday gift?” Harry adds, crosses his arms and looks about as rebellious as a he did back in fifth year when Dolores Umbridge took over teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Draco thinks it’s only Harry’s boyish good looks – _especially his unruly hair and hypnotising green eyes_ – that allow him get away with such childish behaviour at the — _supposedly_ — mature age of forty.

Unfazed by Harry’s temper tantrum, Draco unfolds the parchment and reads the riddle aloud.

“ _Every dusk begins with me;  
_ _at dawn I’ll be first you see;  
_ _and daybreak wouldn't come without;  
_ _I’m what midday centres all about;  
_ _Harry Potter’s husband begins with me;  
_ _and when I come I end all cold;  
_ _but in the sun, I won't be found;  
_ _yet still each day;  
_ _I'll be around.  
_ _What am I?_ ”

“I haven’t got a fucking clue.” Harry’s says instantly and Draco laughs. He knows Harry, knows him all too well. Upon discovering and unfolding the parchment, he left on the bed for him, Harry, at the moment, spent all but two seconds on trying to figure out the answer to this riddle.

“It’s utterly simple. In fact, it’s so simple that if I was to tell you the answer you’d hex me for implying you’re stupid.” Draco smiles and moves out of the armchair by the bay window. He crosses the room and gracefully straddles Harry’s thighs, sinks down onto his lap and leans in for an appeasing kiss, to which Harry uncrosses his arms and sneaks them around Draco’s waist instead. “At least try.” He attempts to persuade as he withdraws from the kiss and slides onto the sofa, stretching out with his legs deliberately resting across Harry’s lap.

“Read it to me again?” Harry requests with a furrowed brow. Draco obliges and watches his husband intently as he scrunches up his entire face and stares at the floor, clearly trying his best to work it out. Draco finishes reading and a moment of silence passes between them before Harry triumphantly shouts the answer. “ _Draco_. Or _D_. The letter _D_!” He says confidently and Draco extends his hand, accios a quill with a wandless spell. He hands both the quill and the parchment to Harry, who dutifully scribbles down the answer, then watches – _with the amazement of a five-year-old_ – as the riddle and his answer disappear only to be replaced by another riddle.

“ _I come without being fetched at night,  
_ _But am hidden away as soon as daylight strikes.  
_ _I may look small,  
_ _but am much mightier than what you can imagine.  
_ _What am I?_ ”

Harry reads, turns his head and looks at Draco. “Exactly how many of those bloody riddles are you going to make me solve before I get my birthday present?” He whines and Draco chuckles, sits up and dutifully pacifies him with another kiss. It truly confounds him how more than twenty years into their relationship a simple kiss still manages to make such an impact. For both of them.

“Just these two.” He grins. His answer is only a half-truth but he doesn’t plan on telling Harry that. Considering just how much Harry hates riddles – _he studiously avoids any and all of the crosswords or Sudoku puzzles Draco so loves procrastinating with_ – Draco thinks more than two riddles is most definitely pushing the boundaries heavily.

“You better be telling the truth or I’m going to get the next international portkey home.” Harry says, quietly reads and rereads the riddle while Draco thinks they’ve most definitely been married for too long. He’s managed to turn Harry into a miniature version of himself while he himself has seemingly morphed into a strange version of Harry. It’s bizarre to say the least.

A few minutes pass, then Harry sighs exasperatedly and his pleading green eyes melt Draco’s resolve just a little bit, but not enough to actually help. He shakes his head and shrugs when Harry’s eyes narrow and he gets a frosty glare.

“You can do this.” He says, crosses his arms behind his head and challenges Harry. “I dare you to.” He knows fully well that whatever ounce of stupid Gryffindor bravery that’s still left inside of Harry, the tiny bit he hasn’t managed to convert just yet and probably never will, won’t be able to resist and he’s right.

Several long minutes pass but Harry eventually offers an answer and Draco nods. Harry, of course, can’t work out how the letter ‘ _D_ ’ and ‘ _star_ ’ are connected and, despite insistent pleading, furious threats and numerous moments of uncharacteristic sulkiness, Draco manages to resolutely keep his mouth shut until long after dinner when they’re standing out on the balcony of their hotel suite, slowly sipping a glass of well-aged red wine each.

While Draco star-gazes, Harry’s head rests on his shoulder and the fingers of his hand, which has slipped under Draco’s sweater, gently ghost across Draco’s lower back, soft fingertips caressing warm familiar skin.

“Would you like your birthday present now?” Draco breaks the comfortable silence that has settled between them.

Harry’s hand stills and Draco feels him lift his head. He turns his head, smiles and steals a kiss from Harry. “No, dinner wasn’t your birthday present.” He mumbles before Harry can actually ask the question. He skilfully pulls a parchment out of his trouser pocket and hands it to Harry, who looks hesitant to say the least. “I promise it’s not a riddle.” Draco laughs, pleased when Harry looks relieved, accepts the parchment and unfolds it.

As Harry studies the parchment, Draco draws his wand and with a mumbled spell he draws the Draco constellation into the evening sky, expertly connecting the stars with a thin silver line. He is pleased when Harry looks up and gasps. It’s not an especially prominent constellation of stars but, and Draco remembers this quite clearly, it’s Harry’s favourite. Has been ever since he first pointed it out to Harry twenty-two years ago, when they, post-war, made their peace atop the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower.

“You bought me a star, you daft romantic sod you.” Harry mumbles and Draco chuckles.

“I bought you a star.” He affirms. “Seemed like a fitting gift.” He adds and with a wave of his wand he lifts the Disillusionment Charm off the telescope he assembled and positioned early this morning when Harry was still fast asleep. “If you want to have a look. It’s already in the correct position, just look for the brightest star, that one is yours.” He offers, nudges Harry towards the monstrous star-gazing instrument and watches with glee as Harry squints through the lens and into the sky. “Happy Birthday, my love.” Draco whispers, idly wondering whether Harry thinks the name he’s chosen, for the star, is foolish. It probably is but after more than twenty years together he’s grown a thick skin when it comes to things others might label ‘embarrassing’.

“I love the name.” Harry smirks as he draws away from the telescope. A moment later Draco finds himself engulfed in a tight hug that nearly knocks all the air out of him. “Just now long did it take you to come up with that?” Harry wants to know and Draco grins.

“About half an hour.” He says with a nonchalant shrug. _More like a month_ , he amends in his head. He still doesn’t particularly think that _Drarry_ is a very imaginative name for a star, but he wanted the bloody thing to have a bit of both of them in it and any other combination of both their names just sounded ridiculous.


	31. Talisman

“What’s on your mind?”

Draco sighs softly, looks at Harry and really doesn’t want to answer the question. He doesn’t want to lie either though. He closes his eyes, falls back into the grass and stares up at the sky. They have both graduated from Hogwarts a mere month and a half ago and it had been Harry’s plan to start working the week following their graduation. Somehow, he however managed to talk Harry into them spending the summer together, travelling, just being a couple. It is a relatively new experience for them both, but one they’ve already grown fairly accustomed to, which terrifies Draco just a little but not enough to run for the hills. Now that the summer is almost other, he wants to tell Harry not to go into active Auror duty, wants to tell him it’s a stupid idea, wants to tell him about all the nightmares he’s had about getting late night calls from St Mungo’s, but the words won’t form. He knows its Harry’s dream and it’s not his place to stand in the way of that.

“Knut for your thoughts.” Harry’s face obscures the sky, vibrant green eyes sparkling with curiosity and Draco frowns, wonders just when Harry’s become quite this perceptive, thinks his Occlumency skills are all messed up because he suddenly can’t seem to remember to keep his emotions off his face. Something always gives and while Harry never manages to work out exactly what’s troubling him, he can most definitely tell if something’s amiss. Draco wonders if that’s the reason why lying side by side in comfortable silence feels like something he’d happily do for the rest of his life.

“Must I?” Draco sighs again and Harry leans down, presses a kiss against his lips, straddles his thighs, braces himself on his hands and leans forward.

“You don’t have to, but I’m gonna keep you pinned to the ground until you decide to share what’s bothering you.” He says, eyes now gleaming with mischief and Draco rolls his eyes.

“You do know that I can fight you off, don’t you?” He drawls, feigning boredom in a way only a member of the Malfoy family could. He’s quite proud of his ability to appear utterly unaffected by what the people around him say or do.

“Can yes, but I don’t think you want to.” Harry teases.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Draco smiles, runs his hands up Harry’s arms, he rests them on his shoulders, squeezes, then tucks, pulling him down for a kiss. Harry obliges and they share a lazy kiss. Draco doesn’t think Harry’s going to give up and when they part he grabs his leather satchel, opens it and reaches inside. He feels for a small, black velvet pouch, toys with it for a moment. He hesitates, then, albeit reluctantly, hands it to Harry. “If you laugh, I will hex your balls blue.” He threatens most solemnly and Harry pastes his most serious expression onto his face. Draco knows that it takes harry a great deal to maintain his stern appearance and as he gently shoves Harry off him he smiles.

Harry lets himself be pushed off and half-gracefully sinks into the grass next to him instead. Draco sits up, shuffles into a gross-legged position and watches Harry open the pouch only to reveal a silver pendant with a thin, black leather strap. He toys with it, strokes over the engraved ancient rune, then raises a questioning eyebrow.

“It’s an ancient bind rune.” Draco answers the question before Harry can even ask it. “This particular one means _protection_.” He explains further, knowing that Harry never took Ancient Runes in Hogwarts and has therefore no clue about the meaning or origin of said rune.

“I assume you’re giving me this as a gift?” Harry asks and Draco nods.

“If you’ll have it? For when you’re out in the field?”

“Are you asking me to carry a protective talisman around my neck while I’m out hunting bad guys?”

“Would you?”

Harry’s amused chuckle makes Draco want to curse him but he resists drawing his wand and glowers instead. It doesn’t quite have the same effect, but then again, he doesn’t really care. Something tells him Harry isn’t seriously making fun of him.

“I reckon my wand is enough, but if it’ll give you peace of mind, then I will wear this. Everyday.” Harry says earnestly, holds the pendant out to Draco and requests help putting it on. Draco fastens the leather band around Harry’s neck with ease and when Harry turns to face him again, he is smiling. “I’ll be careful, I promise.” He says, as if he can sense the real reason as to why Draco chose to gift him an ancient protective rune charm. Draco gives him a pointed look, but says nothing further.

“You’d better. I like waking up to the sight of you.”

“You say the sweetest things.” Harry smiles and Draco punches him in the upper arm. Harry yelps and they tussle about in the grass for a moment or two, then drown in each other’s eyes and share a passionate kiss that almost gets out of hand. But they are conscious of their surroundings and when they part, Draco feels dizzy and on top of the world. Harry looks just as affected by their impromptu snog and Draco can’t help but fervently pray that what they have is the real deal. Teenager or not, he thinks, he doesn’t want to ever be with anyone else. _Merlin, please, please, please make this last forever_ , he thinks to himself, then entwines his fingers with Harry’s and squeezes tightly. They, once again, allow silence to decent over them as they lie back and look up at the blue skies, each lost in their own thoughts but content to be together.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [31 Days In The Life Of Harry Potter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16451210) by [Selly87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selly87/pseuds/Selly87)




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